


To wed or not to wed.  Is that a question?

by OldProf1942



Series: The lives and times of Camille and Richard Bodey-Poole [1]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Past Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldProf1942/pseuds/OldProf1942
Summary: Will Camille find Richard?  Will Richard find himself?  Will they find each other?  Time is running out!
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Series: The lives and times of Camille and Richard Bodey-Poole [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932577
Comments: 74
Kudos: 31





	1. Finding Richard

The weekend had arrived, and SHE WAS PISSED!! He had decided to leave the island for two days, to follow up on some idiot idea that he had about a cold case. How very Richard of him! It was always work, work, work! Never any suggestion of recreation or, heaven forbid, FUN!!

  
Two years they had worked together, Richard, Camille, Dwayne, and Fidel. A team. Held in the highest esteem by the commissioner. (Well, at least he only yelled at Richard.) They had blended respect, discipline, talent, friendship, and hard work into an amalgamation that had produced the finest police force within a thousand kilometers. Well, maybe a hundred? Ten? So here she was, at La Kaz, Maman’s cozy beach side bar and bistro, ready for a Friday night of longnecks, lobster curry, music, dancing, and laughter. All in honor of Fidel’s twenty fifth birthday, and NO RICHARD!!!!

  
Though the party would not commence for a couple of hours, Camille had come early to help her mother with last minute preparations and decorations. The more she thought about Richard, the angrier she became. That man, without even trying, had the ability to annoy her 24/7. Suddenly, the detective in her started sensing DECEIT! This would required the investigation skills of Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey.

  
With a quick check of her watch, she called out, “Maman, I’m heading for the Honore ferry dock. I’ll be back by party time, with Richard’s head, scalp, and any other body parts I can accumulate.” Catherine smiled. ‘Poor Richard’, she thought, ‘he’ll be lucky to escape with a few bruises.’

  
As she pulled the Defender into the town dock, carpark, Camille was pleased to see that the ferry was just now coming across the harbor toward the quay. There were only a handful of people at the gangplank and only two vehicles waiting to drive aboard. With a sardonic smile she noted that none of the would-be passengers was DI Richard Poole. Camille waited the few minutes for the ferry to discharge, reload and pull away on its last run of the evening. Richard would have to swim if he intended to leave Saint Marie tonight.

  
Since the trip was merely a diversion, the obvious question was: Where is Richard hiding? The few people who might be considered friends would all be at the party and would have no motive for participating in his subterfuge.

  
Three classes of hideouts existed on Saint Marie. First, the flop houses where the drug, booze, and other illicit activities festered. Not likely the type of places you would find the fastidious and moral DI Poole. Two, the resort, spa, and tourist rentals. Unlikely venues for the frugal and antisocial Richard. Three, where else? The shack. Home sweet home!

  
As she drove toward Richard’s beachside abode, Camille’s mind wandered to the possibility that Richard might have an assignation planned! Suddenly her pulse started to race, and she sensed that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. She pulled over to regain her composure.

  
Did she really think that because they worked together, he automatically belonged to her? Why did this aggravating man hold such sway over her? Why did she ache for him as she had for no other man? And why did her mother give her that small smile every time she vented over Richard’s latest male obliviousness. Maybe it would be best to return to the bar and just have a good time. To hell with Detective Inspector Richard Poole!

  
As she pulled back on to the road, the Defender kept resolutely on its path toward Richard’s. The time had come, no more sleepless nights, no more crying herself to sleep. She had to know where she stood. Was she reading him wrong? Was this just a foolish fantasy in response to Maman’s incessant matchmaking?

  
This feeling, this force, this yearning had been building from their very first meeting, when she was working under cover and he had arrested her, thus blowing her cover. Their relationship, if one, existed, gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘love/hate’.

  
But he was so good at the work she so loved. He was the consummate detective. And they worked so well together. There was a frisson, a chemistry, a rhythm to their work that was a true partnership. And then there were those eyes. Hazel did not begin to describe those green, gray, gold flecked orbs. If the eyes were the window to the soul, then Richard Poole’s soul was deep and complex.

  
Camille pulled the Defender off the road about a quarter of a mile from the path that served as the drive to Richard’s home. She would walk in, so as not to disturb them, if there was a them. Her anger was rising, half at herself and half at Richard. She was thinking like a silly, jealous schoolgirl. She was in full fight or flight mode now. This had to end. Camille Bordey was the one who was always in charge when it came to men! She was not about to let a grumpy, grouchy Englishman turn her into a lovesick adolescent.

  
As she approached the house, she noted only one dim light illuminating the interior. Was this romance or frugality? Camille stayed behind the cover of the tree line to the right of the house. She heard no voices or for that matter any sounds at all. Was that merely a nightlight for security? She moved parallel to the house. As she drew near the front, she saw a figure sitting on the front steps. Well, more accurately, lounging on the stairs. It was a male figure wearing deck shoes, cargo shorts, and a garish tropical print shirt. His heels were in the sand and he was stretched out resting his elbows on the porch deck. His face was turned slightly away from Camille thus no profile to help her ID this stranger. As she waited for him to move, a familiar voice asked, “You’ve found me, what happens next?” The face turned slowly toward her. It was Richard but it was not Richard. She stood transfixed as though her feet had taken root in the soft sand. “Well?” Richard queried, “Are you going to join me and my tub of longnecks or are you just going to stand and stare?”

  
As she moved toward the nearly horizontal figure, she managed to mumble, “You don’t look like you.” With a quiet laugh he opined, “Well they say, ‘clothes make the man’, I’m not exactly attired Savile Row, but appropriate for the time and place.”

  
Now standing at his feet, looking down at him, she confirmed it was Richard, but everything was slightly off. His feet and legs and chest were suntanned. His unbuttoned shirt revealed a torso that was trim, flat, and had defined muscle structure. The man worked out. But where and when? “Richard, what’s going on? Why are you here? Is something wrong? Can I Help?”

  
Richard patted the step next to him and reached back to the bright yellow plastic tub on the porch full of ice and beer. As Camille sat next to him, he handed her a bottle. Tapping the necks of their bottles together Richard remarked, “To truth, wherever it may lead us! As Mr. Burns put it so well, ‘the best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain For promis’d joy!’ I am sorry for the deception, Camille. But I wanted to get away for a couple of days to wrestle with a series of decisions that I must make shortly.” After a brief pause, he observed. “It seems that my appearance troubles you. I can go change if you wish.”

  
“No no no you look just fine, I mean great, I mean I mean really comfortable. Suits you perfectly. Great look. Very island. ‘Merde’!” Fighting to regain control, she continued. “Can I be of any help with your problems ….. errrr ….. I mean decisions ….. ahhh ….. or whatever? I can be a good listener. Well, you know, when I’m not babbling.”

  
At that point Camille stared straight out to sea. Her fear was that she probably was glowing in the dark from embarrassment. At least he was not laughing. Her righteous indignation had dissolved into concern and confusion. The analytical Camille, the compassionate Camille was slowly returning.

  
“Richard?” Her voice barely above a whisper. “We work well together. Umn We are partners. We are better as a team than as individuals. We have a synergy. Can’t we apply that to your situation? ahh We’re both good at solving puzzles.” She found herself speaking in short clipped sentences, almost like Richard but with her decided French accent.

  
He was a force that influenced everyone around him. It was almost gravitational, primal, instinctual, and just a bit frightening. And yet, how could someone so powerful seem so vulnerable? “Richard, please talk to me. I want to help. You don’t have to face your decisions alone.”

  
Richard slowly exhaled a long breath. It was as though the words had to be pulled from somewhere deep and hidden. Finally, he started. “I agree with everything you have deduced about our partnership. WE….. are better together. The core problem I face, and the decisions I must make all revolve around ….. you.” His last word came out as a whisper. “Thus, I am not sure your observations could be objective. I fear that my decisions would therefore be couched in emotion and without logic, we both might suffer.”

  
Camille’s reply was simple. “Richard, I am also your friend. Trust me, try me.” Once again, her pulse and respiration were elevated. Every nerve was on high alert! She could not fail. Both of their futures were at stake. How could she convince him that he need not be alone? Placing her right hand over his left hand she said: “Richard, if these decisions involve me, then I am entitled to participate. You do not have the right to do my thinking or make decisions on my behalf. I deserve and need your respect. Trust me.”

  
“You’re absolutely correct.” Richard sat bolt upright and turned to face Camille. “You have made me realize that I was thinking like my father. In our home, only father made decisions. No other opinions need apply. He was not mean or cruel, just possessing that unquestioned sense of entitlement. The perfect English gentleman!”

  
“As you are well aware, I was seconded to Saint Marie. My six months tour of duty was, in fact, to aid in the investigation that inadvertently ended in your mistaken arrest. The benefit, to Scotland Yard was, that I was out of their hair! The commissioner, on the other hand, liked my work and saw me as an asset, an investigator, inhouse trainer, mentor, and organizer. Thus, when my term was due to expire, commissioner Patterson, behind my back, I might add, pulled some strings for an additional six months. By that time in my sojourn in paradise, I had come to have a rather strong affection for a certain detective sergeant. So, I stayed. But with the additional two extensions, I have runout of time.”

  
“If I do not return to Scotland yard, I will be placed on voluntary redundancy. Meaning, ‘I quit’! If I should decide to return to the ‘yard’ in the future it would have to be at the lowest grade detective. I do miss England. I am a child of the rain and damp. But I see no future, here, there, or anywhere without you. If you were to accompany me back to England, I am sure you would be welcomed to the ‘Yard’ by the brass. But the pillocks you would work with every day would see you as only, a colonial cop, a woman, a person of color, and worst of all, affiliated with Richard Poole! I cannot in good conscience subject you to the bigotry and abuse that would come your way. I am sure you are quite capable of defending yourself. But to see and hear the prejudice you certainly would encounter would destroy me.”

  
“If I were to stay on Saint Marie the commissioner has promised to have the council appoint me chief of police with the grade of detective inspector. I would retain my pension and benefits, and lodging. I would become part of the colonial constabulary. For all practical purposes, this is a lifetime appointment. The only career growth would be when the commissioner retired, and I ascended to his post. That was the path he followed ten years ago. With my change of status, you, upon passing exam, would fill the vacant position of detective inspector. This in turn would open a detective sergeant position for Fidel or Dwayne.”

  
“The last alternative, of course, is that I return to England alone. This is my least desirable choice, because not only would it be without the woman I have come to trust and respect but it would mean leaving behind the kindness and friendship she has taught me to accept from others. Camille, you have made me a better human being and thus a better man. Without you I see nothing but emptiness for me. With you, I see a world of possibilities.”

  
Camille had sat in frozen silence. Without preface she blurted, “Richard? Are you asking me to marry you?

  
Facing her, his eyes shining in the dim light, he replied. “Camille, I am yours and I want to be with you, in any way, shape, or form that makes you happy for the rest of our lives.” They both sat staring at each other. And then simultaneously, both burst into giddy laughter.

  
Camille, the first to speak, chortled, “Richard, you do realize that until I just laid may hand on yours, we had never deliberately touched?”

  
Richard, looking a bit confused and boyishly charming all at the same time, confessed, “It really had not occurred to me. You must understand Camille, when it comes to matters of romance and women, I am a bit of a dolt. But I can assure you that even dolts can have deep and abiding passions. I can think of nothing more joyous than being married to you and spending the rest of my life on Saint Marie. If I need a touch of ‘old blighty’ I can always take a cold shower.”

  
“Shouldn’t we seal this with a kiss or something?” She ventured.

  
“Oh no!” Richard exclaimed, “I don’t have a ring! I should have a ring! You always need a ring! You can’t do it without a ring!”

  
“You need not worry, Richard, my ring is at Pierre the jewelers on front street. I picked it out when I was ten. He’s been holding it for me. He and Maman have been dear friends for years. He loaned her the funds she needed to start the bistro. We can check the ring out in the morning.”

  
“I’ve done this all ‘cart first’ it seems.” Richard’s chin fell to his chest. “I do love you Camille. I neglected to say that first because I was afraid, you’d flee before hearing me out. Bye the bye, did you say ….. yes?”

  
“Oui, mon cher. Of course, I will marry you, you silly man.” Camille smiled sweetly and lovingly at Richard and continued. “There is one more thing. Something I have never said to any man, except, ….. you ….. I love you. I love you Richard Poole. Mon Reesharrd.”

  
Her, sensual French pronunciation of his name sent an electric shock through him that brought Richard to his feet. He clasped Camille to his chest. Their lips met first with a gentle brush and then a deep and open-mouthed clash that left them both gasping for air. Camille, eyes and mouth both wide with shock and wonder murmured, “Richard, are you sure you’re not French? No Englishman I’ve ever met kissed like that!” Richard’s smirking reply, “I do believe my partner provided all the necessary inspiration and provocation.” They remained in each other’s embrace until their collective pulse and respiration returned to some semblance of normal.

  
“I do believe we have a party to attend, do we not?” Richards query was met with a, far away stare, and a somewhat crooked smile. For the moment Camille seemed to be else ware, in a very, happy place. He decided another kiss was in order. Per chance, he could join her where ever she currently dwelt. Her response was passionate and sustained. As they broke for oxygen again, Camille suggested, “Why don’t we stay and have our own private party ‘mon cherie’.” Finally, some of the air Richard was gasping made it to his brain. “Camille, it’s Fidel’s birthday. We really should attend. I give my solemn oath, that after the party you shall have my full and undivided attention for as long as you desire.” They both slowly returned to a seated position. “You’re right. After all, that is why I chased you around the island.” She smiled and continued, “And, we both will need nourishment to sustain our efforts later.”

  
After he emptied the beer he had started earlier, he looked at Camille and proclaimed; “I drank all this beer seeking either inspiration or oblivion. I got neither until you arrived. It is as though I’ve drunk nothing but fizzy water!” Camille burst into immediate gales of laughter. After regaining her composure. She questioned, with breaks for giggles, “Richard, you do realize that you purchased a case of alcohol-free beer?”

  
Now, she couldn’t wait to get to La kaz. This was too good a story. Richard, drowning his sorrows in a case of glorified soda pop. She loved him even more.

  
Richard realized that he was embarking on a life that would contain a rather large dollop of continuous embarrassment, at the hands of this marvelous woman. He loved her even more.

  
Standing he said, “Let me go change my clothes and we’ll be on our way.” Her immediate response, “Over your dead body!” His rejoinder, “I believe the correct phrase is: ‘Over MY dead body.’ Her counter, “Precisely, over YOUR dead body!!!” His pause, to consider her exclamation, allowed Camille to explain. “I am marrying the ‘new’ Richard, not the old grey wool suit that grumped and grouched about Saint Marie. Tonight, may be Fidel’s birthday party, but it is also the unveiling of the new and improved Richard Poole. Come my love.” She extended her hand. Before taking it, he quietly asked: ”May, I button my shirt?” The response? A giggle, “No!” and another giggle. Off they went. It was party time.


	2. Party: "Some Enchanted Evening?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will this be an enchanted or cursed evening when the 'new and improved ' Richard Poole arrives? This could be a bumpy night!

As they drove the Defender to the station, where they would leave it for the night patrol, Richard and Camille cast furtive glances toward each other. Since she had found him at the shack, an eventful two hours had passed. Barriers had been breached, walls had collapsed, love professed, and plans initiated. Both were giddy, excited, and more than a touch apprehensive. These two, independent, intelligent, headstrong, and in the case of Richard, massively repressed, individuals were charging into a future that both had only fantasized.

Camille could see Richards body growing more tense as they approached the station carpark. “Relax, ‘mon amour’, we will be surrounded by friends.” “I don’t want to stand out.” Richard bit off his words. “I hate being in the spotlight.” The distress in his voice was verging on panic. Pulling into the parking space, Camille turned to her distraught man and, caressing his cheek, spoke soothingly. “Richard, you’re going to look just like everyone else. For a change, you will be just one of the, crowd!” The thought seemed to give him comfort.

Walking from the station to La Kaz, Camille slipped her arm through Richard’s. He hesitated for a moment, looking first at Camille and then up to the star carpeted sky. A small smile spread across his lips. “Camille, I’ve been here over two years and, this is the first time I’ve truly been aware of how beautiful a tropical Caribbean night can be. One more thing to be thankful for. To be trite, you are the gift that continues to give. You have awakened me to a whole new world.”  
Wrapping her arms around Richard’s waist and planting a passionate kiss in the appropriate place Camille proclaimed: “I do believe you’re becoming a romantic.” “Well,” he mumbled, “it can’t be genetic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents hug and certainly not kiss!”

As they approached Catherine’s bar Richard asked: “Is there any way we can avoid a ‘grand entrance’?” Pulling on his arm, Camille led him around the side to the residence entrance. Opening the door with her key, she called: “Maman?” There being no answer, she led Richard though the sitting room, the small dining area, and out onto the private porch facing the harbor. Going down the outside stairs the door at the bottom stood open to the bistro’s kitchen.

There was Catherine and her cook Pete, and Marie, her all around aide de camp. Pete and Marie were too busy to even notice anyone entering. Wiping her hands on a pristine towel, Catherine sauntered over toward Richard and Camille. “So, my daughter, it appears you have found your lost Richard! All appendages undamaged and intact? Hmmmm, no bruises or wounds?” Richard became increasingly uncomfortable as Catherine circled him like a shark sizing up its prey. Turning to face him she extended her right index finger to just below his chin and slowly traced a line down his sternum to his navel. Opening his shirt, she observed: “So this is what, you’ve been hiding under those baggy grey policeman’s suits. Eh? Richard Poole?” The stricken look on Richard’s face sent Camille and Catherine into waves of laughter. “You’ve done well my daughter. You managed to bring him back in better shape than when he left. I think you ought to keep this one.” With a twitch of an eyebrow Catherine returned to her culinary duties. Looking to Camille, Richard was met with a smile redolent with affection and glee. “It seems the new you, has impressed Maman, and that ‘mon chouchou’, is a major accomplishment.”

Once again, taking his hand, she led him through the swinging door, past the small bar and toward their VIP table. VIP meaning, it was the only table large enough to accommodate the ten partiers soon to assemble. As Richards eyes flashed from side to side, he conveyed the aura of a man about to mount the scaffold. ‘La guillotine’ awaits. A gentle hug brought him back from his dark reverie.

“Richard? Look at me!” Looking into those dark luminous eyes, Richard found comfort and security. “I love you Richard.” She continued. A small smile crept across his face and the grey of his eyes slowly shifted back to a shining green. ‘How bad could it be?’ he mused.

Suddenly his ears were assaulted by the roar of: “Camiiiiiille, it’s paaarrrrrty tiiiiiime!!!!!!!!” ‘Oh no, not Dwayne!’ With his back to the on rushing, Officer Myers, Richard looked to Camille for support and was met with two eyes aglitter with glee. ‘He was doomed!’ Suddenly a hand clapped his shoulder. Dwayne, looking at Camille uttered, with a bit of a rum induced slur and island patois: “Who be de new guy? Girl! A bit o’ Maman’s work, eh?” Slowly Richard turned to meet his fate. The expression on Dwayne’s face ran the full gamut of, surprise, shock, horror, terror, and confusion. All he could get out was: “Chi…..I ….I …..i ….. aye yi yi!” Richard’s glare froze Dwayne. With a sudden smile of genuine pleasure, Richard offered his hand and queried, “Where does a man get some rum around here?” Dwayne’s, hundred-watt smile returned, as he exclaimed, “Chief, it’s really you? Awh you look fabulous! Absolutely fabulous! Camille?” She nodded. “Two rum, two longnecks back!” With that, Dwayne was off to play waiter.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad?” Camille whispered. “I’ll let you know as soon as my heart restarts,” was Richard’s plaintive reply. “Here comes the birthday boy!” Camille announced as she brushed past Richard and clasped Fidel and Juliette in a three-way hug and exchange of cheek kisses. As Richard approached, Fidel extended his hand in greeting and proclaimed: “I’m Fidel Best, and this is my ….. Sir? ….. Sir? ….. Sir!! ….. What happened to you?” Turning to Camille, Fidel blurted: “What have you done to him?” Camille turned to Juliette and they exchanged a mutual ‘men are such idiots’ look. In the mean-time, Fidel continued to babble apologies. Richard interrupted with a laugh and a warm, “Felicitations of the day, Fidel,” and a bear hug that surprised even Camille.

Camille led the Bests to their place at the head of the table just as Dwayne returned with their drinks and his ‘amour du jour’, one Caroline Dupre. Caroline reminded Dwayne, “Be sure to point out your grouchy old boss. I promise I will be a good girl and won’t annoy him.” Covering his face with one hand he tapped Caroline on the shoulder and pointed to Richard. The young woman hesitated a moment and then scrutinized Richard from head to toe. Smiling rather enthusiastically, she observed, “You don’t look that grouchy, maybe you just need to have a little more fun.” This produced a full voltage death glare from Camille, who had moved quickly to Richard’s side. Thus, with territorial boundaries established. Everyone returned to their places amicably. Camille whispered to Richard that buttoning the bottom three buttons would probably be a good idea. Walking past Dwayne, she muttered, “Short leash, very short leash!” Dwayne’s reply, a respectful, “Yes, sarge.”

As the first round of drinks were being consumed by the early arrivals, Catherine came out from the bar and perched on the edge of the chair next to Richard. “I did not think you would be in attendance tonight, even with Camille on the hunt. I must apologize, for I have nothing to tempt your English palate.” “Not to worry Catherine,” Richard explained, “tonight I shall sup as…” “as the peasants do?” she inserted.” “No,” he quietly continued, “as my friends do.” “You have changed Richard Poole.” She observed. “I can now appreciate why my daughter is so fond of you. Please be good to her.” “I shall. You have my oath!” He pledged. As Catherine headed for the kitchen, she stopped and promised Richard that his plate would have no eyeballs or antlers (as he referred to the crustacean’s antennae). He smiled his reply. 'Even the rum tasted good'.

Now, where had Camille gotten herself to? Standing, he, looked about and quickly spotted her in an animated and laughter punctuated conversation with Simone Patterson. That was a sure sign that the commissioner was in attendance.

“Richard.” Selwyn Patterson’s greetings always had the tone of the politician, both ingratiating and threatening. “By your attire, may I assume that you are giving positive thought to my offer?” Richard noted that the commissioner was wearing deck shoes, identical to his own; with Breton Red Bermuda shorts and a floral print shirt open to mid chest. So far, he was the only one who had not reacted with shock upon encountering the ‘new and improved’ Richard Poole. “Have you had an opportunity to discuss the matter with Camille?” Inquired the commissioner. Caught off guard, Richard, mumbled, “Sir, errr why would I confer with her about.....” The commissioner cut him off with a fatherly look and an admonition that when off duty it was Selwyn, not commission or sir. In addition, he noted, that the entire island was well, aware of the suppressed feelings shared by the Englishman and the French woman! “My boy.” Selwyn continued: “Nothing goes unnoticed on Saint Marie. I dare say, you might be surprised at the affection and regard with which the populace holds you. You and your team, our team, have done good work. The people appreciate the safety and order you have helped establish. We all rely on tourism. And tourist only come if they feel safe. I realize that London may confer more career prestige. Don’t forget I too started my law enforcement career at the MET. There, in spite of your brilliance you would still be one in many. Here, you can, and have made a direct impact on the lives of many. You belong here Richard. Oh, by the way, Simone is giving Camille the same sales pitch.” The commissioner turned and starting for the bar, hesitated and turned to Richard and ventured quietly: “I have never felt worthy of my Simone, I suspect you harbor similar thoughts concerning Camille. Don’t let those thoughts dissuade you. Oh, I too am twelve years older than the love of my life. Don’t let that stop you either.” With a warm smile he continued his quest for the bar.

Richard stood frozen in place. It was like one of those nightmares where you are standing in public NAKED! Where was Camille? It seemed, as though, all of Saint Marie were slowly circling him, staring, pointing, laughing. Suddenly, there she was, not a foot away. “Richard, you have that look.” She stated. “What look?” He protested. “Oh, that whole herd of deer in the headlights look!” He smiled ruefully, “I’m fine if I’m talking or listening to someone. But, left to my own devices, I panic.” Camille took his arm and whispered, “I’ll just have to keep you distracted. Come, let us dance before we eat.”

Heading for the dance floor, Camille pulled Richard toward a slender, elegant gentleman seated at the opposite end of the party table. Camille whispered, “That is Pierre Boulanger, Maman’s special friend. Don’t mention our visit to his shop on the morrow. He and Maman have no secrets.” With, the warmth of a child greeting a parent, Camile embraced Pierre with multiple hugs and kisses. Introduced to Monsieur Boulanger Richard was taken by man’s warmth, grace, and dignity. Pierre gently push them back toward their path to the dance floor. Remarking, “We shall have many opportunities for conversation. Go now, ‘vite, vite’, you know what they say, about dancing!” Richard, with a quizzical look remarked to Camile: “What, did he mean?” With a dramatic roll of her eyes she explained. “You know, dancing is as close as you can come to having sex standing up in public! Oh Richard, you have so much to learn.” “I knew that.” Was his abrupt response. Camille giggled.

He had to admit that slow dancing with Camille was both very stimulating and relaxing, a very contradictory state, but most pleasant. As they became more comfortable with each other’s moves Richard ventured: “I am not very, good at the jump up and down, wave your arms, type of dancing. So, if during that type of music, you wish to dance with others, I won’t object. I am quite skilled at fox trot, two step, waltz, mambo, rumba, samba, tango, cha-cha, and merengue. If any of those come up, I claim first on your dance card, please keep me in mind.” With a smile so wide, that it, actually hurt, Camille replied: “Oh Richard, my sweet Richard. Where, did you learn all those fancy dance moves? So far, I’m quite impressed with your foxtrot.” Richard, rolling his eyes, confessed that he had acquired all his dancing skills between the ages of eight and eleven while in boarding school. All part of the proper ‘English Gentleman’s’ training. At some future date I'll acquaint you with the plethora of useless information I gained in preparation for being one of the faithful drones ruling the empire.” At that point, the music ended, and Richard executed a perfectly timed dip of Camille. Slightly lightheaded and just a bit giddy she allowed Richard to guide her back to the table where the feast awaited.

The evening flew by, with much laughter, fantastic food, bottomless glasses of local rum, music, dancing, and more laughter. When all the partiers, were at fevered pitch, the DJ announced. “KARAOKE!” Thus, began an hour of some of the worst singing ever witnessed by humankind. Richard, doing everything possible to remain invisible, slipped lower and lower in his chair, preparing to slide under the table to avoid another humiliation. But, that was not to be! Across the deck someone called out “Richard!” Soon La Kaz, was overwhelmed with the chant of “Richard, Richard, Richard!!!” He estimated with a running start he might clear the rail, the rocks directly below, and hit the harbor water. But before he could act, Fidel and Dwayne had lifted him bodily from his chair and were half carrying, half dragging him to the small riser that served as a stage. Richard stared at the crowd and then abruptly turned to whisper to the DJ. Turning back to the audience he announced: “Ladies and gentlemen please join me in serenading my friend and colleague, Fidel Best on the completion of his first quarter century on this planet. A discordant "Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you ……… rang out. As the song wound down, Richard led the crowd in applause and motioned for Fidel to take a bow. As Richard attempted to slip away, the denizens of La Kaz, blocking his exit, took up the cry of ‘sing’, ‘sing’, ‘sing’……..!

Richard’s mind had only one thought. ‘Whatever I do, I must not embarrass Camille.’ It seemed the only way out was to play the ‘good sport’. Turning again to the DJ he asked, “What are my choices?” “Anything you want. It's all on the computer. I can even print out the lyrics if I ain’t got the books.” Richard quickly made his choice, the printer spilled out the song sheet and he turned to face a room full of gleeful drunks waiting their next victim. Taking microphone in hand he waited for music and judgement. Looking down at the lyrics, he began.

To the surprise of everyone in attendance, Richard’s voice was that of a trained professional. A rich and full, pitch perfect low tenor or maybe a lyric baritone. His voice needed no amplification, it carried to every corner of La Kaz . The plaintive lyrics of “Some enchanted evening” from the score of the Broadway musical “South Pacific” felt perfect in the tropical setting of Honore.

"Some enchanted evening\You may see a stranger\You may see a stranger,\Across a crowed room\And somehow you know,\You know even then\That somewhere you'll see her\Again and again.

Some enchanted evening\Someone may be laughing,\You may hear her laughing\Across a crowded room\And night after night\As strange as it seems\The sound of her laughter\Will sing in your dreams.

Who can explain it?\Who can tell you why?\Fools give you reasons,\Wise men never try.

Some enchanted evening\When you find your true love,\When you feel her call you\Across a crowded room,\Then fly to her side,\And make her your own\Or all through you life you\May dream all alone.

Once you have found her,\Never let her go.\Once you have found her,\Never let her go."

Lyrics: Richard Rogers

Throughout the song Richard’s eyes focused on Camille, like two green lasers. After the opening words, everyone and everything except Camille had vanished. They had become the only inhabitants of their own special world. His voice ascended the last line, syllable by syllable (Ne…..ver….. let….. her….. go….. .) ending on a high plaintive note charged with two years of yearning. The music ended, the sheet of lyrics slid from his hand, he stepped from the riser, and strode across the dance floor into the arms of a sobbing Camille. The roar that rose from the crowd in La Kaz and the surrounding confines sounded more like a sporting event than a Friday night on the town. As they separated, Camille exclaimed: “Richard, I don’t know how many more surprises I can stand.” With a look of chagrin Richard ventured the only truth he knew: “I don’t seem to be able to do things in half measure. I guess you’ll have to get use to my jumping in with both feet.”

Returning to their table and the handshakes, backslaps, and hugs of their friends, the bliss of the moment was shattered by the drunken voice of Sir Evene Smythe-Mickle. “I say Dickie boy, gone native, have we? Consorting with the bloody Wog, she is a pretty bit of fluff though, eh?” The first blow was a right jab to the solar plexus. As Sir Evene dropped to his knees the second blow was a clean left hook to the jaw. Richard stood over the moaning heap admiring his handiwork. Slowly Smythe-Mickle staggered to his feet cursing his assailant. Selwyn intervened: “Evene, my right jab is probably not as crisp as Poole’s, but I can assure you that my left cross can still put you on your arse. Now go home, sleep it off and don’t forget that your business permit comes up for review in a fortnight.” Once again, the crowd roared. This would be a night to remember!

Richard stared at his feet. “Camille I’m so sorry, I’ll understand if you never want to have anything to do with me. Sir, you’ll have my resignation forthwith.” He turned to make his escape but was cut off by the fleet footed Camille. “Richard, you seem to forget that I can punch harder than you! So, don’t make me hurt you. You are my hero! You are their hero! You defended not only me but everyone on this island who has had to put up with that bully’s bigotry. So just stop this nonsense, because, when I get really mad, I start to cry and that would really piss me off.” The commissioner added, “Camille was more forceful and eloquent. All I was going to say was ‘Good Show!!!’”. Richard stood transfixed in amazement. The woman he loved was going to punch him and the commissioner was his ‘wing man’! His world was not only upside down, it also seemed inside out. What a wonderful life!

It was two a.m., La Kaz was officially closed. The crowd gone, and all that remained were the birthday party celebrants and staff. Fidel, Juliette, Dwayne, Caroline, Selwyn, Simone, Pierre, Catherine, Pete, Marie, Richard, and Camille. Slowly Richard rose and gazed over the people he loved most in this world. They were both friends and family to him. “Fidel, please accept my humblest apology for the chaos I have inflicted on your party.” His request was met with a chorus of, “Noooooooo!” Fidel, tilting slightly as he stood, exclaimed: “Best birthday ever! Best party ever! Best best ever! Hey, that’s my name.” The group responded with a somewhat boozy “YAAAAA!” Fidel continued, “Say chief, would you sing at our wedding?” Juliette, with a grin, whispered in her husband’s ear. Fidel frowned and confessed, “Sorry, boss, it seems we’re already…..” He promptly plopped down on his chair, his face, the picture of bliss and contentment. And so, it ended, the party, that enchanted evening.

For Richard and Camille, the evening was just beginning. There were explorations and discoveries to be made! And tomorrow? The ring.


	3. The Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party is over. Now the facts. Richard and Camille share their histories. Do they belong together? Do they belong in paradise? Is the ring more that a young girl's fantasy?

At their current pace, the three-mile stroll to the beach house would take nearly an hour. But, after the phenomenal feast that Catherine and her crew had prepared, and the multiple rounds of beer and rum, honoring Fidel’s birthday, Richard’s singing, and Richard’s pugilistic triumph over Sir Evene Smythe-Mickle, a long walk was just the perfect end to a perfect evening. As if on cue, a full golden moon started its rise from a placid sea.

Richard stopped and mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, “Are you sure you still want me?” Having proceeded a couple of steps further Camille spun toward him and whispered: “More than ever, ‘mon cher’! After the most remarkable party I have ever attended, more than ever!” Taking Camille in his arms, he gently kissed her and confessed: “If there is a lottery of life, there is no doubt in my mind that I have won the grand prize!” They continued on in blissful silence. 

“Richard, tell me about your new body. It’s not the same as when you first came to Saint Marie nearly two and half years ago. Why? How?” Camille’s question caught Richard a bit off guard. Richard inhaled, exhaled several times, and finally started. “Well," clearing his throat, ….. "I …… well …… you ….. they ….. were all taller, younger, better built, better looking. I couldn’t get any taller, or younger, or handsomer. But I could go back to my workout regimen from my uni days. I rowed crew at Cambridge. Mostly singles. Rowing is probably the most intense, full body workout you can perform. Great cardio benefits.”

“When I came to Saint Marie, I made a practice of reconnoitering. Exploring, investigating, finding out where roads led, where illicit activities might take place. In the course, of my enquiries, I encountered a small boat yard, “Rory’s”. It’s the one on the other side of the island near the ‘lagoon’. It’s where the small commercial fisherman, store their vessels. I discovered that, the ‘lagoon’ is, in fact, a salt water tidal pool, with no passage to the sea. An ideal, calm, half mile long, rowing course. All I needed was a boat. I found a used one on the internet, had it shipped from Puerto Rico. A bit of sandpaper and varnish and she was all ‘shipshape and Bristol fashion’. New oars from a marine chandlery in the U.S., and I was hard at work trying to recapture my youth. All in the quest of my lady fair!”

“Rory would pick me up about four in the morning, I would be in the water by half after and done by six. His night watchman Bolo, he’s the old guy that lives over the gift shop, would have me back at the shack by seven.” Had time to shower, shave, dress, breakfast and get a good hour of reading and case study in before you or Dwayne would pick me up.”

“You do sleep? Camille inquired. “Of course!” was the abrupt ‘old Richard’ reply. Followed by an immediate. “sorry”. “I make a practice of getting a full fours of rest every night.” “Wow, a whole four hours!” Camille exclaimed. With a smirk, she continued: “That leaves you with a lot of time for special nocturnal activity.” Even in the moonlight she could see Richard’s full faced blush. “I have the feeling that a potent vitamin supplement shall be in my immediate future,” murmured Richard. Lacing their fingers together, they walked like two teenagers out on a first date. Whispers, murmurs, chuckles, giggles and the bumping of hips and shoulders, marking, a new intimacy between friends, soon to be lovers.

“Richard, what about the singing? By the way, you have a fantastic voice.” Camille was eager to know the genesis of all these layers of the ‘new and improved’ DI Poole. “Well,” Richard began. “my mother gave private piano and voice lesson in our home. It was the only ‘work for hire’ that ‘the Major’ deemed appropriate for a lady! So, at the age of four I began my piano studies. Shortly thereafter it became apparent that I had been born with perfect pitch. I kept finding the, out of tune, keys. My mother, being a devout Church of England adherent, also organist, choir director and soloist soon had me in cassock, surplice, and tippet. I now was Richard Poole, boy soprano. Thus, I stayed all through public school. When my voice changed at Eton, I became a second or low tenor, as I am now. At Cambridge I read history and political science at King’s College, just as father had. But my passion was to join the twenty men of the world famous, King’s Choir. Every term for three years I auditioned and was told. “near on lad, be sure to try next.” Finally, at Trinity Term (the third academic term) I was taken as an alternate and at Michaelmas Term (the first term) of my fourth year, I was taken as a full member. I loved music because it was always predicated on performance. No one had to like you. You just had to be good at your job.”

“How is it you became a police officer?” queried Camille. “It seems you were headed for the foreign service like your papa.” Richard's response: “Well, that of course, was ‘the Major’s’ master plan. But at uni I met a rather strange chap, who opened my eyes to a clear sense of justice, and its noble calling. He went by the pseudonym of ‘Sean’. I will tell you the whole story on one of those rare, all day rains, it will take some time.” “Where is he now?” asked Camille. “Last I heard, he and his partner were up north, New York, City, I believe.”

Richard stopped, the shack, no longer his, but now theirs, stood before them glowing in the moonlight. Camille, put her arm through his and quietly uttered the magic word, “Home.” Entering their future, Richard moaned, “This place is going to need more than a mop and broom. Well, if we start…” Cut off by two warm passionate lips ardently pressed on his, Richard’s mind spun into a realm of voluptuous worldly delights. Domestic matters could wait.

Rapidly Camille’s fingers undid the three buttons and pulled his shirt off. Richard assisted by kicking his shoes away. Having unbuckled his belt and releasing his zipper she dropped his cargo shorts to the floor. “Richard? Plaid boxers?” Camille observed with a smirk. “Tartan.” Richard managed to croak. As she lowered his final garment she was met by an impressive display of enthusiasm. Standing, she immediately shoved Richard backward. He landed, at a forty-five degree angle across the bed. Grabbing his ankles, Camille spun him so that he was in the center of the bed. Quickly, she pounced on and stood, straddling him. Slowly she removed her sleeveless blouse and very, short shorts. “Camille! You’re not wearing any under garments!” Richard gasped. Struck mute, all he could do was watch this, incredible, wicked, wild-eyed women lower herself to him. As her lips passed his ear she whispered, “I’m French, mon cher.” And so, Richard’s education began.

His eyes popped, open, the muddle of sleep had him disoriented. ‘Where was he? What time was it? What had happened? WHO!! was in his bed? Oh! MY GOD! … I’M NAKED!!’ It was real. it had actually happened. It hadn’t been a dream. The beach, the party, the walk the ………. And now. IT WAS ALL REAL!’

Slowly a head of raven curls rose from Richard’s chest. Camille, with closed eyes, turned her face to him and whispered, “Kiss.” His response was instantaneous, a gentle pressing of lips. Her's, was a blissful, satisfied smile. Without opening her eyes, she settled back on his chest, resumed sleep with a quiet childlike snoring. Richard lay in wonder. ‘She snores!’ It was somehow, a very special, very private, treasure like thing to know. As Richard started to slip back toward slumber, he felt movement on his left knee. Looking in that direction he was greeted by two, very large staring eyes attached to a very green body. ‘Oh, blast and bloody hell’, it was past Harry’s breakfast time!’ He had no one to blame but himself. He had scrupulously trained the lizard to expect special nourishment at 0630 and 1830. Here he was metaphorically between heaven and hell.

Carefully extracting himself from Camille’s cuddle, he slid out of bed, and quickly prepared Harry’s mango and bug mash. As he returned to bed, he was confronted with a sight that made him glad, in spite of all his flaws, that he was a man. A naked and feline Camille stretching herself awake. She turned over on to her stomach and murmured: “What is the time? Mon ami, mon cher, mon coeur.” His mouth moved but nothing intelligible escaped. His focus was solely on the lines and curves of this uninhibited, sensuous, incredible woman. Turning to check his alarm he finally announced: “Ten of seven.” He turned to find Camille, still uncovered, sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed. “Have you no modesty, woman?” Richard exclaimed half in jest. Camille’s response, with full eyeroll and leer: “Look who’s talking!” Paralyzed momentarily, he proclaimed: “I’ve never been fully naked in the presence of a female. Well maybe when I was a baby. But in our home, with my parents, I doubt it.” Camille’s laughter surrounded Richard like a blanket of joyous love. He dove for her, but the nimble love of his life was on her feet before he had completed his landing.

“We have a busy day ahead. Time for a shower and breakfast. Maman sent us home last night with fresh ground coffee, a bag of your favorite Fortnum and Mason loose tea and a selection of her fantastic croissants. I’ll shower first, then, while you bathe, I’ll put our breakfast together. We’ll eat on the deck and I’ll fill you in on ‘the ring’, Maman, me, my father, and Pierre. ‘allez allez’.”

Though they had only gotten two hours sleep, at best. The excitement of the new partnership, a major dose of adrenaline and now the surge of breakfast caffeine had them both ready to take on the world. Richard was eager to know more about Camille. Her history, family, and friends would soon be blended into is his life. The prospect, a bit daunting but exciting. As they sat eating, Richard reflected on what a pleasant scene lay before him. Most of the time he ate standing in front of the cooker and sink. Somehow everything tasted better. Even the strong bitter French coffee.

Camille frowned, staring into the depths of her coffee mug. Looking up at Richard, she noted that those fascinating eyes were at that special green/grey stage that meant she had his full and complete engagement. And so, she began.

“Richard, you are the only person on this planet, except Maman and Pierre who knows of the ring’s existence. It is real, it has been in Pierre’s safe keeping for twenty years. But it is also very symbolic. It is a ten-year-old girl’s dreams. A mother’s life-time of devotion. A kind and generous man’s love. And even a reminder of selfish cruelty from a man who should have given a life of love and nurture.”

“My father and mother met when she was seventeen and working part time at a resort, while she finished school. My father was twenty-five, tall, handsome, glib, and senior desk clerk at the same hotel. Like many girls, with limited opportunities on Saint Marie, Maman succumbed to the guile of a 'good catch' and became pregnant. Marriage and Camille followed in close order. Therefore, at eighteen Catherine Bordey, was a graduate, wife, and mother. The diploma was a ‘backdoor’ graduation. The good nuns at Notre Dame School, couldn’t have a public display of pregnancy, someone might think sex had taken place. As soon as Maman began to show, father lost interest in the ‘basketball’, as he referred to her burgeoning shape and started spending more time with his old buddies at the local bars. As soon as I was born, she returned to work at the resort full time. Soon she moved to catering, and within a year and two promotions, she was a supervisor and making more money than father. This simply meant he kept his pay for booze, drugs and women. When Maman objected, she got the back of his hand. Eventually it was his fist. And then one night when I was five he beat her so savagely that he broke her nose, her jaw, two ribs and then’ he grabbed her hand and twisted two fingers, dislocating and breaking them so badly that they required multiple surgeries. He did this in front of me. When I tried to stop him, he backhanded me so hard, I bounced off the wall and lay stunned, and unable to move. He left, cleaned out the bank account, and caught the next ferry from Saint Marie. I have not seen nor heard from him since.”

Richard sat in stunned silence, but the rage he felt toward this man shone in his eyes. Camille watched them change from luminescent green to a cold steel grey. With every ounce of disciple, he could muster, he quietly asked. “Could law enforcement do nothing?” She smiled bitterly, explaining: “That was before Selwyn arrived and instituted reform. Until then, the Saint Marie police had a difficult time handling drunks and pickpockets!” “Twenty years, I have been an officer of the law,” exclaimed Richard, “twenty years, and I still cannot explain or understand the depravity of people such as your father. I cannot imagine the horror you and your mother endured. Forgive my interruption, please continue.”

“Maman was in the hospital for six weeks. I stayed with an ‘auntie’ while she recuperated. An ‘auntie’ is usually, and older woman who cares for children in their home. My ‘auntie was Pierre’s older sister Michelle. That was how Maman met Pierre. When Maman was released from the hospital we both stayed at Michelle’s until she could return to work. Father had taken all we had, so the rent had not been paid, and we had been evicted. Pierre paid the legal fees for the civil divorce. The church, of course didn’t recognize the dissolution. Thus, at six I was fatherless, with a dread of everything. I felt powerless. I hadn’t been able to save the one person I loved. So Maman and I became a team, with one goal, to make me powerful! And that’s why I obtained a university degree, martial arts training, and became a police officer.”

“Over the years Maman and Pierre became close, eventually lovers. It was Pierre who suggested that Maman start her own bistro. He loaned her the necessary funds, which she insisted on paying back with interest. Pierre offered to marry her numerous times. She refused first because of the church, and second because of me. Pierre, with the commissioner’s assistance, and a trip to Rome was able to take care of the first. The second was a bit trickier. I wasn’t married at the normal eighteen to twenty, age of most Saint Marie girls. So, at thirty I have caused a substantially longer courtship than poor Pierre had anticipated. I hope our union will correct that.”

“Pierre was like a father to me. His shop was a wonderland of treasures. Jewelry, paintings, ‘objet d’art’ filling every nook and corner. He obtained most of his inventory from estate sales throughout the islands. One day, when I was ten, Maman had me take a special lunch to Pierre at his shop. There I found the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. A ring only a princess could wear. When he allowed me to try it on, I burst into tears. With all the solemnity, that only a naïve young girl can muster, I announced that, ‘That was the ring I wanted when I got married.’ It was a two carat, emerald cut, pink diamond solitaire. It was the pink that briefly graces the bottom of puffy clouds at dawn. Pierre promised it would be waiting for me. He has kept his promise.”

“Come, let’s call a jitney, I want to be at Pierre’s well before the first ferry arrives with the invading tourist hordes.” “Shall I change?” Richard inquired. Camille leaned over, gave him the sniff test, a small nibble on his neck and proclaimed him ‘tres bon’. Looking at Camille, Richard demurred, “You should know after last night, I tend to do things full bore. Were, I to start an olfactory inspection of your body, it might be days before we got to Pierre’s.” “Mon Dieu! Richard, you’re developing a sense of humor.” “I’ve always had a sense of humor,” he protested, “it was just resting.”

On the ride to Pierre’s, Richard was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. ‘Danger! Danger! This was, ‘meeting the parents’!! Well, sort off, not exactly, maybe?’ Once again, Camille intervened. “Richard, relax, just relax, Pierre will love you. After last night, you’re Saint Marie’s knight in shining armor. And by the way, Pierre absolutely hates Sir Evene. All will be well.”

The shop was everything Camille had described. An oasis of taste and culture, in the midst, of tourist kitsch. A place where upscale tourists might find quality bargains. Pierre greeted them with a warm: “Bon jour.” Kisses and hugs for Camille and a firm handshake for Richard. “I had a feeling my shop might be graced with your presence today.” “Really?” Camille exclaimed with two raised eyebrows. “I think the serenade, and the physical defense of your honor provided a hint or two.” Pierre explained with a parental smile. Instead of embarrassment, Richard felt only love and warmth.

“Shall we examine the ring? ‘Mon amis.’” They ventured to the back of the shop, to a small room with a single table covered in midnight blue velvet. Several small spotlights, on ceiling tracks focused on the table. There, in the center was a pink velvet ring box. Camille stood with both hands held to her mouth, with tears welling in her eyes she looked first to Richard and then to, Pierre, who nodded. Reaching out with visibly trembling hands, she picked up and opened the box. Removing the ring from its miniscule pillow she held it up to the light. Richard was fascinated with the various shades of pink, that were just as Camille claimed, like dawn breaking on snowy clouds. Pierre suggested she try it for size. Camille turned to Richard and whispered: “It has been twenty years. I cried then and I am crying now.” She slipped the ring on and noted a perfect fit. Looking quizzically at Pierre. He responded: “Your mother brought in both of your jewelry occasionally for cleaning and I would check the size at that time.” Richard turned to Camille and quietly, haltingly proclaimed: “Beautiful! Perfect! Just as you, my love.”

“Why don’t you go and call your mother and set up lunch for four while Pierre and I conclude our business.” As Camille walked to the front of the shop Richard and Pierre crossed to the tiny office. Pierre indicated that all the documents supporting the rings provenance, and valuation were in the bank safety deposit box and would be available on Monday for him or his solicitor. Richard, feeling somewhat awkward, withdrew his checkbook from his pocket and asked: “How much?” Pierre smiled and replied: “It is a wedding gift.” Richard frowned and started slowly and carefully. He wanted Pierre to understand. “Sir, you are a fine and noble gentleman who saved both Catherine and Camille. As a man of integrity, I’m sure you can understand that I must, as a matter of honor invest in this material representation of my love for Camille, or else it represents you, not me.” Pierre paused, then after a few moments, nodded his assent. “I have always thought of myself as Camille’s father, and like most fathers I have become a bit overprotective. I am guilty of trying to micromanage and thus guarantee her a perfect life. A fool’s errand. ‘Oui?’” “No.” observed Richard: “A loving parent’s errand.”

“Now then, how shall we proceed?” Richard knew nothing of business or negotiation, so he started. “Well, what is the appraisal and insurance value?” Pierre’s response was a Gallic shrug and a whispered, “twenty-five thousand pounds”. Richard opened his checkbook. Pierre laid his hand across the check exclaiming, “Non, non, non! I only paid a thousand for it.” Richard pulled out his phone, did some quick calculations and stated: “That would be about twenty-five hundred at today’s value. That would clear your books and assuage my honor. Have we a bargain?” “Oui, nous avons une bonne affaire.” Pierre’s reply. The two men shook hands. As they walked out to join Camille. Richard paused and whispered to Pierre. His response was a broad smile. Camille reported lunch for four at one. The ferry left at one so the bistro would be virtually empty. Richard held his hand out to Camille. She pressed the small box to her chest and proclaimed: “Mine!” He smiled and noted: “Not yet. Formalities must be observed.” She relinquished the box with an almost believable pout. With hugs and Gallic cheek kisses and Richard a full participant, the two departed for a morning of shopping before lunch. The day was soon to become much more interesting.


	4. Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More transformations, the ripple effect of decisions, and the moment of truth.

The tiny box secured in the zippered pocket of his cargo shorts was now a precious treasure that required constant checking. His hand involuntarily touched his pocket every few seconds. ‘My god!’, he thought. ‘I might as well be wearing a neon sign. The perfect ‘tell’. Hey pickpockets, right this way, something valuable. Bloody hell! I am a police officer. I know better! The sooner we get this in the evidence safe at the station the better.’

He had never felt such apprehension and elation at the same time. He, a man of a boring, precise, structured life, was embarking on a grand adventure. Was he up to the task? The commissioner’s words echoed about not feeling worthy of the love of his life, but, that Richard should press on. Would he ever be worthy of Camille? Staring into middle distance Richard slowly came to a halt. Breaking through his mental fog came Camille’s new favorite phrase. “Relax Richard, relax.” He pointed to his face and asked: “The Look?” She smiled and nodded an affirmation. “I’m sorry, my love. There has been so much to process in the last day, and so much more to come. I’m in sensory overload.” Her laugh was light and musical and offered immediate comfort.

“Come, ‘mon cher’ we are at Jacques’. Is this where you got your ensemble?” Shaking his head, he mumbled: “Internet.” Camille’s eyeroll was all the response necessary. Entering the store, they were met with air conditioning and a subdued background of classical music. The exuberant cry of “Camille, ‘mon amour’ where have you been hiding?” shook Richard from his brief, moment of cool relaxation. From the back of the shop emerged a tall, slender, black man with silver sparkle eye liner from eyelash to eyebrow. The effect was such, that when he closed his eyes it was as though you were being stared at by two silver coins! His attire was as disconcerting as his eye embellishment. He wore a white satin Cossack’s tunic with a red sash atop a pair of English country gentleman’s tweed knee breeches. Finishing this bizarre assemblage were a pair of knee-high red stockings (matching the sash, of course) and a pair of combat boots painted a sparkling silver (matching the eyes, of course). Camille exchanged two hugs and two kisses (all, of the air variety) with Jacques and proclaimed that he was a master of creating, ‘a look’! Now, Richard had spent nearly twenty years on the streets of London and had seen his share of the exotic and unusual but, had never ever once considered asking any of them for sartorial advice. His every instinct was to run. Run far, run fast.

Jacques, gesturing toward Richard with an open hand, questioned: “Is this one for you, Catherine, or are you sharing?” Richard’s eyebrows went north while his lower jaw went south. Camille slipped her arm through his and anchored him to the spot. She whispered to him: “show Jacques the ring.” After fumbling with the zipper Richard extracted the box and handed it to Camille. Displaying the ring elicited an alarming squeal from Jacques, an additional cry of “c’est magnifique”, and more hugs and kisses of the normal type. Suddenly Jacques, in a voice, a full two octaves lower, and with a firm handshake, (with sparkly, silver nails, of course) proclaimed: “Good show old chap, you’ve claimed the best. Now let’s get you kitted out.” In a flurry of jackets, trousers, shirts and shoes, Richard was clad in a classic, conservative, casual look that to his eternal surprise, he, actually liked. Gazing in the full-length mirror, Richard blushed slightly as he noted his younger appearance. Camille smiled and raised an eyebrow observing that she would have to ‘keep close check’ on her new younger man. ‘Good-grief is the woman psychic?’ Richard thought. Camille chose the tan trousers, light blue, button down, oxford cloth shirt, light weight single breasted navy blazer and a pair of deck shoes with a thicker walking sole for his walk away outfit. They would pick up the balance of the new wardrobe the following day.

Outside the shop Richard asked Camille: “What just happened back there?” With a smirk and a look of wide eyed, innocence she stated: “You acquired a smashing new wardrobe.” Richard’s glare provoked a coy: “Oh, do you mean Jacques? Well if you were to look for him tomorrow morning, you would find him singing bass at the Baptist church about five miles up the old coast road. What you just saw was all show biz and ‘le carnaval’ for the tourists. I’ll share a secret with you. Jacques is quite straight. Has a beautiful school teacher wife and the most adorable twin girls you’ll ever likely find. Oh, before he legally changed it, his name was Frank, and he was born in Sussex! Now let’s get me a new frock.”

The next forty-five minutes involved traipsing between the three women’s clothing emporiums searching for the perfect luncheon garment. Richard’s task was to carry Camille’s bag, now containing the ring and answer the most terrifying question ever put to man. “How do I look?” At the second stop at the third shop or the third stop at second shop, he had an epiphany. He now knew why he owned six identical suits. No matter how lofty his IQ might be, clothes shopping was truly beyond his skill set. At the last store, sitting on one of those ubiquitous benches, where countless males had gone before, Camille approached and saw her shopping stunned man. “Richard, are you, all right?” He smiled gently and quietly explained, ”I have a picture of my mother when she was about fifteen, perched on a large rock at Brighton wearing a dress so very much like that, which you have on now. Her smile expressed a ‘joie de vie’ that always made me think that the photographer was a new beau. By contrast, all the pictures in our home show a beautiful, elegant, lady with sad eyes and no smile.” Camille said she could find something else. He said, “No, no, no, it is quite perfect. It shall be a reminder that, my life’s work is to see that the sparkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips never fade.”

Dressed in their new attire Richard and Camille strolled hand in hand the remaining two blocks to La Kaz and lunch for four.

As expected, Catherine’s establishment was empty, save for two local couples finishing their meals. In the corner, where the VIP table had stood the previous night, was a table for four. Adorned with a white tablecloth, four lit tapers, fine china, crystal, and silver. A most elegant setting. Stepping from behind the bar, Catherine exclaimed, “Vous deux etes magnifiques!” Coming to her side, Pierre agreed, “You two are gorgeous!” Looking at each other like two teenagers setting off on a big date with parental approval, all joined the warm laughter of a suspected special event.

All seated, Catherine explained that Marie and Pete would be serving so that she too could enjoy the meal. First Pete brought forth four pub style pint glasses filled with an amber brew. Toasting a happy future, glasses raised, first tastes, Richard’s eyes wide with surprise. “Catherine, this is Boddington’s Bitter tap, not package!” She smiled slyly and said she needed to add something more authentic than the American beers that most of the competition served. As they finished their bitters Marie rolled out the luncheon. Again, Richard’s look of surprise and wonder. He looked at Camille, who could only shrug, she had no hand in the menu. Set before them were four perfect steak and kidney pies and a mountain of authentic thick cut chips. Before starting, Catherine inquired, “Richard, you claimed that you didn’t eat anything that was ‘looking’ at you. Can you make an exception here?” He looked at his meal and saw a perfectly impressed ‘happy face’ baked into the golden crust. “I do believe I can get past this one.” To put a cherry on it she had even found a bottle of malt vinegar for the chips. Attacking his meal with gusto Richard proclaimed: “By St. George, I’ve not had a better S and K anywhere, in any pub, in all the land. I am truly astonished! You are a wizard or wizardess or ….” A full mouth stifled further comment. But she wasn’t done, one last dish to bring him to his knees. All he could do was whisper: “Plum duff, I am in paradise!”

The meal concluded, Richard rose and turned to his hostess and stated. “Catherine I shall come directly to the point. I love your daughter to a depth and with a passion that astonishes me. I give you my solemn oath that I shall put her safety, health, and happiness ahead of all else and that I should give my life, without hesitation in her defense. May I have your approval, to ask for her hand?” Catherine stood, came around the table and with warm hug and tear laden eyes murmured, “But of course Richard, but of course.” As she returned to her seat, Richard took the ring box from his pocket. Removing a clean handkerchief and ceremoniously spreading it on the deck, he knelt. Gazing into Camille’s now, tear filled eyes, Richard paused to regain his composure. “Camille, you have made me a better human being and thus a better man. You have taught me the true meaning of friendship, partnership and above all else, love. This grumpy, grouchy, old Englishman would consider it the greatest of honors if you would become my wife and partner. Will you marry me?” Camille’s pause seemed an eternity to Richard. Enough time for him to assume the worst, ‘she was going to say no!’. But wait, her lips were moving, but no sound was emanating. Her head was bobbing up and down with enthusiasm. Finally, the words emerged, “Oui mon amour. Un millier de fois, Oui!” The ring was slid in place. Camille pulled to her feet, and a robust and passionate embrace ensued. Breaking for air, a beaming Richard proclaimed: “She said YES!” Soon all four were gathered in a group hug.

A smiling Catherine announced: “This calls for champagne!” “Un moment, mon Cherie. I too have task a to perform.” Pierre’s voice was thick with emotion. Reaching toward Richard, he accepted the handkerchief. Turning to Catherine, he guided her to her chair and whispered: “S’il vous plait.” She slowly lowered herself to the seat. Pierre, following Richard’s example, ceremoniously laid the handkerchief on the deck, and kneeling, pronounced. “Mon coeur, I have faithfully honored your wishes, and kept my promise to your daughter. I ask humbly, ‘Je vous en prie, soyez ma femme.” Her response was to caress his face and declare: “Bien sur mon amour” The ring that Pierre proffered was similar in size to Camille’s, but the stone was an emerald, of such depth and color that it seemed almost liquid. It too, was a ring chosen years earlier, only to wait for that special moment. Both rings were now free to dazzle in the Caribbean sun.

After more hugs, kisses and tears it was now time for champagne! Marie and Pete joined in the toast. Camille was surprised to really hear Pete speak and see him smile. Normally he only frowned, mumbled to himself, and occasionally cursed creatively in Creole and French when cut or burned. Today, it was ear to ear grin and the repeated phrase: “Oh this is good, this is too good, this is sooooo good!” Pete moved to each celebrant, delivered a hug and a “bonne chance”. After three complete circuits he stopped, raised his glass and cried “l’amour!” Five other glasses were raised. Six voices unanimously declared, “l’amour!!!!!!” To the surprise, shock and gayety of all, Marie planted a firm and more than casual kiss upon Pete. She then led the befuddled man back to their mutual domain.

The next hour was spent quietly in the warm afterglow of a long, sought mutual goal achieved. The four, each reflected on how they had arrived at this momentous day.

Catherine smiling at Pierre, murmured: “I am here because of the kindness, generosity, and love of this wonderful man. He understood that Camille had to come first, last, and above all others.”

Pierre looked out over the harbor and quietly observed: “My ancestors were from all points of the compass. Escaped slaves from the US Civil War, Spanish, Dutch, French and English colonial conquers. Mix in a few rogues, scoundrels, and a pirate or two and you have the light chocolate colored blue-eyed man before you. All this quest by my forebearers for, ‘something better’, taught me patience. For this woman I would have waited forever.”

Camille admitted: “I had nearly given up hope. While the opportunities for matrimony had been plentiful, the quality of the candidates remained subpar. And when an interesting man finally did come along, he didn’t appear interested. Maman, do you remember how you would read poetry, to me when I was going through my ‘tomboy’ stage. I think she thought it would make me more girly. Well, I did retain some of your attempts at smoothing all those rough edges. After working with Richard for a year, with my passion and frustration alternating by the moment, I remembered one of those poems. I looked it up on the internet. Suddenly all was clear. The verse was by an Edwin Markham. It was called: “Outwitted”. It was short but, helped explain what Richard had done and what I must do. It went: He drew a circle that shut me out\Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.\But Love and I had wit to win:\We drew a circle that took him in!” And that is exactly what I did!”

With a very ‘Richard’ frown on his face he began: “Words are not my strength. Last night I managed to imply marriage to Camille, which she correctly inferred, without telling her that I loved her. Why, thankfully, she did not leave instantly I will never know? What I did know was quite simple. It did not matter whether I was here, England, or for that matter, the moon. Without her I was nothing. With her I had everything. As I am sure you noticed last night, I do tend to go a bit overboard. What I could not say, I could sing. I am most grateful that Camille had the generosity of spirit to wrap me in her love. Catherine, you have done a remarkable job in raising this lovely woman. And Pierre, you have set an example of what a man can and should be. I shall work every day to meet the high standards you both have set. I thank you both.”

“There is one other matter I should like to broach.” Looking somewhat sheepishly at Camille, Richard continued: “Might I suggest a double wedding?” Nearly in unison, mother and daughter exclaimed, “I …. We were going to suggest that!” Pierre a bit nonplussed could only confess that it hadn’t occurred to him. More laughter, hugs and champagne sent the luncheon into overtime.

Later at the beach house or ‘mason de plage’ (a description Camille preferred to ‘shack’) two weary inhabitants anticipated an early evening. Sitting on the porch steps, (each taking sips directly from the bottle of champagne that Catherine had sent with them), as they had a mere twenty-four hours earlier, Richard exclaimed: “These have been the most extraordinary two days I have ever experienced. I have gone from fear of losing everything to having gained all I could ever imagine.” Camille giggled, turned to Richard and told him: “Do you know, that without your shoes and jacket, you are really quite cute. You have wonderfully sexy feet. If you had any plans for an early evening, cancel them ‘tout de suite’.”

Richard could only sigh. He wondered if he had the stamina to survive paradise. If not, what a way to go! His blissful introspection was interrupted by Camille’s lush French accented voice.

“’Mon petit’, I forgot to tell you, we are invited to the Patterson’s for ‘tea at four’ on the marrow. Simone invited us last night. I hope I didn’t step on any boundaries by accepting on ‘our’ behalf?” “No, no, Camille. I think it best that you assume control of our social calendar. You know that my first response would always be no. But with my anticipated, new responsibilities, ‘yes’ will be required. And, in spite of, your being ‘soooo French’ you are far more gracious than I shall ever be.” She responded with a quick kiss and the dictum: “’Mon cherie’, you have prenuptial responsibilities! The bed calls, no, I think it commands! ‘Vite, vite, allez, allez.”


	5. Plans and Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time grows shorter. The revelations continue. Can partners at work be partners in life?

As Richard’s mind rose to consciousness from the bliss of uninterrupted sleep, he became aware of three things: One, was the gentle rhythmic breathing of the woman, with whom he was entangled. Two, was the gentle lapping of the waves on his small piece of paradise. And three, the quiet rumble of distant thunder. For one brief, moment he could almost believe that he was back in England with another wave of thunderstorms marching in from the Atlantic. Opening his eyes, he soon focused on the distant horizon and noted the wall of cumulus clouds, with occasional flashes of lightning in the tops.

What a strange and wonderful sensation. This was like nothing he had ever experience in his narrow, gray, disciplined, forty-two years of existence. Complete and total contentment. Heaven in paradise! He pulled the light blanket up over their naked bodies. Camille murmured and snuggled in tighter. Drifting back into blissful slumber, Richard’s last thought was that he would have to train Harry to a later schedule.

A quiet giggle brought Richard back from the land of nod. Refusing to open his eyes he asked: “And what has tickled your funny bone my sweet.” Her response was prefaced by another giggle. “I do believe your child demands attention.” Opening his eyes to bare slits he was met with those familiar oversized orbs attached to that bright green body, now only about five centimeters from his nose. ‘Harry definitely needed a new schedule’. As Richard disentangled from the bedding and Camille, Harry scurried up on to Richard’s shoulder. “Wonderful”, exclaimed the human, “the creature is now training me!” Having met Harry’s breakfast demands, he turned to Camille. “How would you start the day, luv? Coffee? Tea?” Her smirking response was quite simple. “Thee.” Beverage time would be delayed.

After the third beverage delay, both parties agreed that rehydration and nourishment would be of value. They decided that a good strong mug of coffee would be the first order of business. Next would be a proper cuppa and a full English breakfast. Savoring their coffee and watching the thunder heads inch closer, Camille asked: “What do you normally do on a Sunday morning, ‘mon cher’?”.

“Well, I usually start with a full hour of rowing. Shower. A full English breakfast. A second pot of tea and ‘The Times’. I finish with the crossword. I still do it in pencil. My classmate at uni, ‘Sean’, always did it in ink. I would check his work, and in four years, I never found a single error. After the mind stimulation I do a hundred pushups and a hundred sit ups. A thirty, minute nap/meditation and I’m primed for an afternoon of prep for the start of the week or I’ll delve into some challenging cold cases.” “What do you do for fun?” Came Camille’s cautious inquiry. “I would have to say, my music. I have a keyboard, guitar and soprano, alto, and tenor recorders. I do vocal exercises with the first two. Obviously not with the later three. On occasion I would go sailing with Geoffrey Mark-Simpson, but he passed, away recently. I am a skilled voyager and navigator.” After a brief pause, Richard continued. “Enough of me! Tell me about your Sundays.”

“My Sundays used to be recovery from Saturday night. But the last two years have changed all that. With a diminished and quieter social life, I have resumed the habits of my younger days. Maman and I go to church, sometimes with Pierre. We stop for coffee and brioche at Noelle’s Café Honore. There we gossip a bit, and then return to La Kaz to help setup the Sunday brunch buffet. Once that is done, we might head to the ferry for an afternoon of shopping on Guadeloupe. Every month or so, we treat ourselves to a half day at one of the resort’s spas. Occasionally we will wily away the afternoon on Maman’s porch, with a good ‘vin rouge’ and just watch the boats. For me, Sunday is all about recharging my emotional batteries. It is that time, as they used to say, ‘to stop and smell the roses.’”

With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, Richard observed: “hmmm, I would surmise that your Priest’s confessional must be a much less interesting place, what with his parishioner’s new ‘diminished and quieter social life.” Camille’s prompt response was a glare and a rather sharp blow to Richard’s shoulder. He stood, stepped out of Camille’s reach and with a lecherous grin ask: “Shall I prepare breakfast or would you like to join me in some pre-confession activity? Must keep old Father Michel awake!” As a slipper flew past his head, Richard assumed, that meant breakfast.

“How are you going to cook all the ingredients on that tiny two flame cooker?” Camille’s question prompted the extraction of a large cast iron skillet from beneath the counter that served as the shack’s kitchen. The pan nearly covered both burners, as Richard set it to preheat. Adding ingredients as their cooking time required, monitoring the electric kettle and the ancient four slice toaster, Richard brought a ‘full English breakfast’ to a dramatic and simultaneous conclusion. They were soon tucked into a feast of bacon, sausages, eggs, black pudding, baked beans, tomatoes, and mushrooms, toasted muffins, marmalade, and a ‘proper’ tea! “’Mon Dieu’! Richard, you can cook!” Looking a bit put off, his response was posed as a question. “Did you really think I took every meal in a pub for the last twenty years?” Camille’s response was a shake of the head and as much of a smile as she could muster with a stuffed mouth.

Breakfast devoured, washup complete, the two sat in a new-found domestic compatibility. The only item on their social calendar was tea at four with Commissioner and Mrs. Patterson. “Richard? Should we shutter up? I can see rather dense bands of rain dropping from those clouds.” “Oh, let it pour, save us a hoover and mop.” The other slipper ricocheted off Richard’s knee. “The shack may not be a palace ‘mon chu-chu’, but you do keep it spotless. I doubt you rely upon storms to do your household chores.” With a look of astonishment Richard blurted: “Do you realize, I have no idea if you possess any domestic skills? I have never been in your flat, and I have never consumed any food that you have prepared.” Camille’s response was a sly smile, a raised eyebrow and a whispered: “You’ve sampled my other domestic skills, did I disappoint? ‘Reeshard’?” After a long pause and the resumption of respiration, Richard was able to gasp: “No, no, no, disappointment, no dissatisfaction, only wonderfulness! And, and, and there’s always; take away?…. hired help?…. live on love?”

“Get you out of your gray suit and out of the office, and you are truly a different man. I love both of you ‘avec tout mon coeur’.” After closing the storm shutters and securing the shack. Camille suggested that they call a cab and, go pick up the Defender at the station. They’d need it for the journey to the commissioner’s later that day. “We should stop at Maman’s and start to set some plans in place. I know you’d like to get this all put to bed.” They both burst into giggles at the double entendre. All Richard really wanted to know was, where and when. He’d be there!

The storm moved through slowly, leaving behind a glorious double rainbow and humidity pushing triple digits. At the station they encountered a somewhat the worse for wear Fidel. “Mornin chief.” Was Fidel’s weak greeting coupled with an even weaker smile. Finishing the paperwork of his Sunday half shift, he apologized for his asking Richard to ‘sing at his wedding’. Richard smiled and inquired: “You remember asking that last Friday?” “Oh sir, I may drink myself into complete stupidity, but I remember every unfortunate detail in glorious technicolor. That is precisely why I rarely drink. As they were about to offer Fidel a lift home, Juliette entered, bearing icepack, aspirin, and a restorative kiss for her ailing spouse. Turning to Camille and Richard she noted: “No one can claim my boy didn’t ‘party hearty’, on his birthday. You two really helped make it special.” Juliette stopped as she started to turn to her husband. Coming back to Camille, she cocked her head to one side quizzically and said: “Camille?” Camille’s response was an immediate sense of heat rising in her face. Slowly she brought her left hand, which had been behind her back, up before her friend’s face. The two women bursting into tears simultaneously, wrapped in a hug, proclaimed their mutual joy. Richard stood by relishing this spontaneous expression. Fidel lowered his head to the desk. He knew not, what the commotion was about, but he had no more party left in him.

Since the storms had passed, Richard and Camille left the Defender at the station and walked down to La Kaz. Catherine sat at a corner table near the bar, paperwork and her midmorning coffee covering its surface. “Bon jour!” “Bon jour!” Greetings, hugs, and kisses were exchanged. (‘These French, were certainly a tactile lot!’ thought Richard.)

“Maman, if you have the time, I thought we might start some planning for the ‘evement special, oui’?” “Bien sur!” Catherine’s instant response. Table cleared. A fresh pot of strong coffee that Richard was sure could have walked to the table all on its own, was produced. Note pads, pencils, and a plate of fresh croissants. Thus, the combat was engaged. Quires flew, ideas exploded, Richard watched a manic verbal ping pong match with French and English as interchangeable weapons. Caught in the crossfire and bombarded with questions that he could only answer with a feeble ‘I don’t know.’ Or ‘I don’t care.’ Richard found himself the focus of Camille’s fury. “Do you want to get married or not?! This is your wedding too! ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care’ are not acceptable answers. You can participate or we can forget the whole thing!” The fire in Camille’s eyes cut him to the quick.

Richard lurched to his feet, knocking over the chair. His face red with anger, his breath coming in gasps, and with a small pain filled voice stated: “I don’t care if we wed at the marriage bureau, a church, the beach, at dawn, dusk midnight or high noon, or hanging upside down from the branches of the tree that is growing through my shack. I don’t care if it’s just us or the whole bloody island. I don’t care, know, or understand about flowers, food, music, or attire. I …. I …. I ….“ With a look of loss and resignation he walk off the bistro’s deck and disappeared into the crowed street.

“How could he? How dare he? Il est le diable incarne!” Camille turned to her mother, her look of rage had turned to despair, and the tears fell. Catherine held her sobbing daughter, and murmured words of comfort and hope. Calmed and braced by another cup of strong coffee, Camille asked her mother: “What now?” Catherine displayed that small smile of experience and replied: “Go bring him back, my child.” “He won’t go back to the shack. He knows I’d look there first. He’s probably on the ferry to Guadeloupe and the first plane to London!” “Camille, you are a detective, look across the street. What do you see?” Lifting her head, Camille saw a rather well dressed, man holding up the building directly across the road while staring at his shoes. With a flick of her hand and a “vte! Vte!” Catherine directed her daughter toward the errant fiancé.

Approaching Richard, Camille stopped and noted: “Very handsome shoes.” He responded without lifting his gaze: “Yes, but a bit out of character for me. Maybe none of this is me.” Her reply was simple: “Come ‘mon cher’, I believe we have just had our first fight." Taking his hand, they walked back to the table and her mother’s hugs and kisses for each of them.

“I don’t know how to fight. It simply was not done in our household. Even raised voices or nasty looks were forbidden. Your words cut into me with the pain of knives. I did not know how to respond. You can destroy me we a word and mend me with a look.”

“I want to be married to you more than I can express. But this wedding process is all new and very alien to me. I do care for your happiness Camille. But whether you and your mother wear matching flower tiaras is irrelevant. You both, will be gorgeous!” Catherine remarked, “Alright, let’s start with what you liked or didn’t like about the weddings you’ve attended or participated in.” Richard’s embarrassed answer was: “I have never been to a wedding. My knowledge of such events is limited to what I have observed on the ‘telly’ and at the cinema.” The two women’s faces displayed first shock and then pain. Camille immediately clutched Richard’s arm: “Oh Richard, I’m so sorry. There is so much we need to learn about each other.”

“I hold things in, not because I’m afraid to appear stupid, but because I can not stand pity. I will gladly try to answer your questions. I was not being flippant with my, ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I don’t care’ answers. I really did not know but I did care about the event. You two were better, equipped to make the choices. My impression of weddings was, that they were ‘female’ dominated events. As, the groom, my only responsibilities were to: 1. Show up. 2. Be at the correct venue. 3. Be on time. 4. Be sober. 5. Have the rings. Have I misstated my obligations? Oh! 6. Love my bride with all my heart, forever and ever, until the end of time.”

“Maman, how can I not love this interesting, frustrating, but oh so loving man? Richard, why don’t you go home and nap or do your ‘Times’ crossword. Leave us ‘women’ to hammer out the details of ‘l’evenement Magnifique!’ I’ll call when we are done. It will only take me a few minutes to change for afternoon tea.” As he drove home, he ruminated on how a good chat with Harry was in order. That might help bring some clarity to his poor abused brain.

Promptly at three o’clock the phone rang, and fifteen minutes later Richard and Camille were back at the beach house. A few minutes later Camille was straightening Richard’s dark green tie which, with his mint green shirt made his eyes appear almost emerald in color. She was already contemplating their evenings activities. Richard, nearly overwhelmed by Camille’ light perfume coupled with her natural scent was thankful that ‘high tea’ was a light snack, and a usually brief event. He had plans for this evening.

In the freshly scrubbed Defender, (Dwayne thought it would help make a good impression on the commissioner.) Richard claimed: “In the two plus years I’ve been on Saint Marie I am quite certain this is the first-time soap and water have ever graced this vehicle!” “I could not believe that it was Dwayne actually doing the scrub!” Camille’s reply. It gave Richard a warm feeling to know that for the first time in his career, he was working with people who cared about him and, he for them. This is where he belonged. This was home.

HOME! “Oh my god.” Richard’s cry nearly sent them off the twisting road. “My parents! Should we tell them? Oh no! should we invite them? Oh god! Maybe we could tell them later? Oh hell! What if they want to come? Oh blast! What if they, actually, do come? Oh bugger!” Richard’s knuckles turned white as his hands tightened their death grip on the wheel. Camille’s quiet mantra of: “Relax Richard, relax.” Brought him back to a calm and refocused state. “Of course, we’ll tell them. Of course, we’ll invite them. Of course, we want them to come.”

In a numbed state of anxiety Richard turned into the gated drive of chateau Patterson. A circular cobblestone carpark capable of holding a dozen or more vehicles that allowed them to pull up to the covered pergola leading to the double door entrance. Standing at the edge of the drive were Selwyn and Simone, the perfect affable, affluent host and hostess. This was how the other half lived.

With the customary hugs, kisses, and pleasantries came the commissioner’s, policeman’s eye. His critical observation immediately caught the flash of Camille’s ring. A broad smile, a clap on the back, and a sincere: “Well done Richard.” Simone took Camille’s arm, leading her to the house and exclaiming rapturously over the symbol of Camille and Richard’s new life. Passing through the open, airy, and elegant home they came to the veranda overlooking the swimming pool and perfectly landscaped garden. The exemplary venue to display ‘soft’ power. The consummate politician’s playground.

Seated under a festive striped awning Simone alerted their guests that this was a very, special day for Marie, the Patterson’s live in cook and maid. This would be her first English tea service. She had just returned from six weeks of service training at a London school. Marie, the youngest daughter of Mama Z, locally renowned voodoo priestess, hoped to open her own tearoom in Honore when she was older. Since the Patterson’s home was being graced by local hero and famous tea expert, DI Poole, she was primed to impress. Simone, asked Camille, being closest, to ring the delicate silver bell. Arriving almost instantly and with a very proper: “Mum?” Simone replied: “We’ll have tea now, Marie.” With a curtsy and a: “Very good Mum” Marie was gone.

“Well Richard, you have a beautiful, intelligent, and talented fiancé and a rather well put together new wardrobe. Do I finally receive an affirmative to my offer?” Richard stood and with great solemnity said: “Sir, it will be my distinct honor to serve with and for you as Honore Chief of Police.” The commissioner having stood as Richard spoke, shook his hand and said: “Your duties and title and pay grade will be slightly modified.” “In emergency session yesterday, due to our minor conflict with a certain objectionable sod on Friday last, the council appointed you Chief of Law Enforcement for Saint Marie. This carries a fifty percent rise in your compensation package. Is that acceptable?” Richard, a brief look of confusion passing across his face, nodded as nonchalantly as possible and declared: “Quite, quite, quite, acceptable.” Returning to their seats, Richard continued: “That is the fastest promotion I’ve ever received. Why so, sir?” “With the commercial expansion on the other side of the island, four new resorts under construction and the yacht and charter boat harbor development we will need expanded police service. We need to stay ahead of the curve. You are the man to handle it.” A bit overwhelmed but excited he looked at a beaming Camille and questioned: “What do you think, partner, can we handle this?” With, a wink she declared: “Right in our wheelhouse, ‘mon cher’.” Deal done, time for tea.

Marie, as if by magic, appeared with a laden tea cart. Eager to please she produced three brews to meet every taste. For the ladies there was Chamomile, for the commissioner, his favorite Earl Grey, and for the ‘hero’, Fortnum loose leaf house blend. The treats included lemon, strawberry and chocolate small cakes. And on a small platter were fresh baked strawberry scones with a bowl brimming with homemade clotted cream. Preparing to serve, Marie asked: “Shall I be mother?” Simone nodded her assent. Tea was poured, each recipient asked; ‘black? white? sweet?’. Cups filled, a toast to new beginnings, first tastes. Marie stood by to serve the sweets, but her eyes were fixed intently on Richard. He held his cup with the tips of the fingers of both hands and inhaled the fragrance. A raised eyebrow, a small nod, and now the taste. Richard sipped, closed his eyes, and savored. Opening his eyes with a look of surprise and delight, he exclaimed: “By Jove this is fit for none other than the queen herself. Now it has been, a number of, years since I last took tea with Her Majesty, but I can assure you this cup lacks nothing. Well done Marie, well done you!” Looking as if she were about to faint, Marie managed to maintain decorum and cut the small cakes into four precise pieces each. “Will there be anything else Mum?” A quiet ‘no’ from Simone. “Thank you, Mum.” Simone whispered to Richard: “Thank you, that was most kind. She has been frantic since I told her of you and Camille’s visit.” Richard’s earnest response: “That was no exaggeration, that was as good a ‘cuppa’ as you’ll find anywhere in the UK.”

“Richard, you’ll have to obtain a uniform and a couple of tuxedos. I’ll give my tailor over on Guadalupe an alert. Does fine work. Excellent bespoke work. You’ll want to pick up a couple light weight wool suits I would imagine. Perfect alterations.” “Thank you, Selwyn, I shall be talking to my parents in the morning. I’ve two or three tux stored there, mother can send them along special post or whatever.”

Selwyn frowned and declared: “They will be coming of course?” “Well the Major is seventy-two and really doesn’t like to venture too far from Sussex.” The commissioner pondered a moment and then exploded: “Major John Poole?” Richard responded with a fearful: “Yes. Why?” With a roar, Selwyn bellowed: “Well you tell Major Jumpin Jonny Poole that Sergeant-major Selly Patterson wants his sorry arse down here ‘on parade’ for his son’s wedding or the whole bloody regiment will know what a sorry tosser he is!”

With a moment’s hesitation and a sudden look of revelation, the commissioner sat back and exclaimed: “Bloody hell! That makes you ‘Richie’. ‘My clever Richie.’ ‘My genius Richie.’ My brilliant boy.’ ‘He has my beautiful wife’s musical talent.’ ‘Perfect pitch.’ ‘Perfect, perfect, perfect!’ My god Richard the man prattled on about you as if you were the ‘second coming’. He certainly was proud of you.”

Camille and Simone had both moved closer to Richard to see if he needed help. He sat with his eyes wide as though having seen a ghost. His mouth had dropped open. His right arm had remained raised and extended as though reaching for something that wasn’t there. He had not moved any part of his body one millimeter since Selwyn had first spoken his father’s name. He looked as though he had turned to stone. Camille moved next to Richard and sat on the arm of his chair. She stroked his hair and whispered: “Relax, Richard, relax.”

As though coming out of a trance he started speaking as if nothing had happened. “Just when you think that nothing more can surprise you. You find out that, ‘the Major’, your stuffy, stiff as a board, never a kind word, always disappointed in you, is actually, ‘Jumpin Jonny Poole’ blithering, blathering bragging on you, ‘proud as punch’, dear ol’ dad. Simone, Selwyn, tea was lovely. I’m excited about my new responsibilities. And all this chaos has led me to know that I’m in the right place, at the right time, with the right people doing the right thing. And best of all I have the right partner.

Approaching the Defender Richard murmured: “My god you smell good. I think you should drive. I’m not sure which dimension we’re operating in. Could be just a parallel universe. I think I need a good cuddle. Camille’s quiet laugh restored that wonderous sense of balance and love that was so vital to his new reality. Three weeks, six days and counting.


	6. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is very difficult to invite the parents without actually inviting the parents. Does Richard have the nerve to make the call? Will Camille provide the moral support? What happens if the parents accept the invitation?

Camille stirred. As was her want, she kept her eyes closed as she felt about the bed for her ‘cuddle buddy’. Patting the cool sheets, her eyes popped open. No Richard! Looking about she found, nothing. Putting on a short dressing gown she padded barefoot to the front porch. Not on the porch. She was distracted momentarily by a nearby crack of thunder. The normally pristine tropical dawn was enveloped in a dark gray blanket of clouds. An ominous portend. Ah, there, down at the water’s edge, seated on a rather large piece of driftwood was the object of her search. Was he wearing a swimsuit? As she drew closer, it became apparent that he was clad in a pair of his plaid boxers. Harry was perched on Richard’s left shoulder and was being fed bits of his special morning treats. “Bonjour. Bonjour. Mon cherie.” Camille’s greeting prompted Richard to rise and turn and start in her direction. His attempt at a smile was more of a grimace. His, “morning my love’ also lacked enthusiasm. As Richard drew near, with Harry still firmly ensconced on his shoulder she took his arm and with a “Comment ca va? My little green friend” they entered chateau Poole.

Richard closed the doors and windows to fend off the cool, almost chill on shore breeze. Turning toward Camille he was greeted with a sight that distracted him from any gloomy thoughts. She was bent over searching for something in the kitchen cabinet. Her short dressing gown had ridden up to her waist. Richard turned to Harry and exclaimed: “That, my friend is why we have to move you to a later feeding schedule!” Camille’s response to that comment was to wiggle the scenery. As she stood, she asked, with a coquettish smile, “Coffee or tea?” His immediate response was: “Thee.” She countered with: “After the phone call.”

“Well then, I shall have some of that nasty, vile French liquid that you claim is coffee.” I must be well fortified for I go in harm’s way.”

“Richard, what is the matter?”

“I can’t remember their number.”

“Richard, you're looking at your contact list, just push the avatar button and ‘et voila’! Done! Why is the avatar for your father a vampire?”

“Whenever I'm around him, it is as though he sucks the life out of me. And now, after the commissioner’s revelation yesterday at tea. I’m not sure I know who my father really is! Next, I’ll probably find out that my mother is working as a showgirl in some West End music hall.

“Relax, Richard, relax.” She was a bit annoyed at his procrastination. But then she remembered her own hesitation in calling her mother when she was working undercover. All the questions, the implied fears and anxieties and the none too subtle hints at how her ‘mon petit’ should live. And, of course, the ultimate guilt inducing: ‘I shall die, never having held a ‘le petit enfant’. Those were simple, everyday type calls. Richard’s was a bit more apprehension inducing. It was time for her French, feminine wiles to take command.

“Reeshard.” ‘Bien’, that always got his attention. Richard, sitting on the bed was now focused totally on this endlessly fascinating woman. With slow, deliberately provocative movement, Camille straddled him. Leaning forward she whispered: “If you are a good boy and make the call, you will receive a wonderful reward; the sweetest, most delicious biscuit you’ve ever had.” That last word was drawn out to a low sensuous growl.

“Might I have my biscuit first? It would help calm and fortify me for the ordeal which lies ahead.”

“No, no, no, ‘mon chu’. Call first, or no biscuits for quite a long time!”

“Oh, this superpower you have renders me helpless.” Falling back on to the bed he exhales and laments: “I am at your mercy.”

“Never fear, I only use my superpower for good. Now get ‘le cul’ up off the bed and make the call!” We do have to go to work today.”.

“Hello? ….. Mother? ….. It’s Richard. ….. Your son. ….. Yes, that Richard. ….. Yes. The one who never calls. ….. I’m fine. No, I'm not sick. I'm fine. ….. I'm as healthy as I ….. should be. Very healthy. In the pink. Mother. Dare I ask? How are you? …............................................. Excellent, wonderful, most gratifying. Why have I called? Well ….. I ….. I ….. I ….. Have wonderful news! He looked to Camille for moral support and saw the start of a glare. ‘Oh no, the thunder outside wasn’t the only storm building.’ “Yes, mother I'm still here. Yes, great news, wonderful news, superb news, newsworthy news. I am not babbling, I'm excited. I DO TO get excited. It’s there, it just doesn’t always show. Now mother....... Glancing again toward Camille, ‘Good god! Glare at Defcon 3!’ …....... MOTHER WE’RE GETTING MARRIED! Yes. ME! Camille. Yes, the beautiful, educated, intelligent, French woman. What do you mean why would she marry me? Well … Well ….. BECAUSE.! Frantically turning to Camille, he was now met with a billboard quality smirk. ‘Oh Blast!’ “Mother? Mother? Mother! Are you laughing? ….. No? You’re crying. That’s not good. That is good. Oh, I see, that’s happy crying. Well then, I shall give you a moment to compose yourself. ….. are you sure you’re not laughing?”

While waiting for his mother to regain her equanimity, Richard was treated to the sight of his fiancé curled on the bed, one hand holding her stomach, the other clasped over her mouth suppressing her now all-encompassing glee. His only thought was: ‘I hope being married is easier than getting married’.

“Mother? …....... Yes. …...... Yes. …................... Yes. hysterical laughter can erupt when one receives news that one never expected to ever receive in her lifetime. Yes. .... Well I apologize, I know I communicate better via email. But I did think that this should be conveyed as close to in person as possible. Yes, we have set the date. Four weeks from Saturday last. I, WE, Camille and I want you and father in attendance. We have made first class air transportation arraignments and a suite at our finest resort and spa for your comfort. We will email all the particulars to you after our call is complete. Well, ….. I, ….. We thought that the timing was auspicious. Hold a moment, Camille’s coming. With a look of terror and panic, Richard muted the phone, turned to Camille and slowly, ever so slowly said: “Our day is also their fiftieth wedding anniversary.” Expecting, at the very least, a ‘my god you’re an idiot’ look, he was met with an expression of surprise and then genuine delight.

Camille extended her hand for the phone, gently pushed Richard to a seated position on the bed, unmuted the device and began. “Bonjour Madame Poole, this is Camille Bordey. To Richard’s shock and surprise, a rapid and fluent conversation in French, at least from this side of the Atlantic, proceeded for the next forty minutes. From the laughter and the convivial bits and pieces his rudimentary French could divine, all was going swimmingly. A sense of calm settled over him. Perhaps if he just stayed out of the way for the next three weeks and five days, all would go well. He could go live up in the tree with Harry. The call ended without his further participation. Camille laid the phone down, turned with hands on hips, a shake of her head, and roll of her eyes: “Mon cher, you have an absolutely delightful, sweetheart of a mother. And, she says that she and your father will be overjoyed to attend our and maman’s nuptials and that your idea that they participate by renewing their vows at the same time is both sweet and pure genius!”

“My idea?”

“Yes, your idea. My clever boy.”

“Was father there?”

“No, he was off attending some cricket thing.”

“Match.”

“Whatever.”

“My mother thinks he’ll go along with all this.”

“Millie was quite certain.”

“Wait, Millie?”

“Your mother, Millicent, Millie! Richard, I do wish you’d focus. She said that ‘the Major’ always obeys when ‘the general’ commands. I do believe she mentioned something about punishment, riding crop and spurs.”

Richard suddenly had a strong desire to join Harry in the tree. The images forming, were potentially brain damaging, ‘Jumpin’ Jonny and General Millie’. He hoped that they would find a crime spree in progress when they got to the station. He needed a distraction, a powerful distraction, a potent distraction!

Camille continued: “Your mother’s French is impeccable. I’m going to have to brush up, I've gotten a bit sloppy. I’ve let too much Creole slip into my daily vocabulary. Oh, Richard, you have that look. Listen carefully and all shall be made clear. I can see we shall have to obtain a white board since you respond better to visual stimulation. Your mother learned her French in finishing school, as a young girl. Later she served as translator for your father while he was in the foreign office. She now keeps in practice with her weekly French book club meetings. While your mother and I were conversing, and you were staring into space, I used your laptop to transmit several pictures of us, the itinerary and travel arrangements. And, she will have your tuxedos shipped express, this very afternoon. We’ll have them on Wednesday. Oh, ‘mon chu’, ‘richard’ and ‘poole’ are not very secure passwords.”

“Well, they fooled Harry.”

"Hmmm My boy looks like he needs a biscuit. Does Richie need a biscuit?”

“Richard needs about a dozen. And if you ever use that other name, ‘Little Richard’ may never, come out to play, again. Do we have an understanding?

“But of course! I have a whole dictionary of other things to call you. Somehow, I believe that ‘play time’ might be a bit dull without ‘Little Richard’! Shall we take a vote?”

“Why do I think it would be two to one in your favor?”

Camille’s smirk and giggle only reinforced that which Richard knew as the ultimate truth. He had surrendered his total being to this unique creature. How was it that he had managed to live forty years without encountering any female that even remotely approached all that she had become to him. These last two years had been a strange slow-motion, stealth courtship. One that neither party was aware that they were a part to. Then suddenly, three days ago, he knew, she knew, they knew, and now the world knows.

“Do we have time for a biscuit?”

“We have two hours until Dwayne picks us up.”

“Oh well, a quick bite is better than no biscuit at all.”

As a now naked and giggling Camille threw herself upon him, all thoughts of work, unknowable families, and wedding chaos vanished.


	7. Work and the new relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How would work and wedding preparations mix and mingle? Will the team dynamic change?

**Monday:** (Twenty-six days and counting!

The Defender drew up next to the beach house. Dwayne was just about to honk when he saw his bosses sitting at the little table at the corner of the porch.

“Mornin’ Chief, mornin’ Camille. You want I should come back a bit later, eh?

“No, no, come join us.” Camille’s cheerful response. “We have fresh coffee, mangoes, bananas, mandarins and some of Maman’s croissants.” Lending emphasis to the invitation was Richard’s insistent arm wave. Joining the breakfast table Dwayne attacked the offerings with gusto.

“What got you here so early?” Richard asked.

“Had to get Caroline up to work, she begins at eight. The school opens early before the heat starts to come on.” Suddenly Dwayne froze, mid croissant bite, his eyes shifting from one grinning face to the other. With an almost cartoon like gulp, he shifted uncomfortably and mumbled: “Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up.”

“Come now, Caroline is a lovely young woman, even if she thinks I'm a ‘grouchy old boss’. Can’t imagine how she got that idea. Tell us Dwayne, off the record of course. One woman, a whole weekend? Sounds serious! “

“Dwayne Myers goin’ all domestic, now? Attention! ‘L’attention’! It is now safe to let your daughters out!” Camille’s joy at tormenting Officer Myers was infectious. All three joined in the laughter. “Which school is she at? What does she do? How long has she been there?” Her barrage of questions left Dwayne with his mouth half open and no sound coming forth.

His response finally was simple and direct. “QE Day School, the new one. Teaches, KS1. This is her eighth year.” Camille was surprised. Meeting Caroline for the first time Friday at the party, she would have guested ‘cocktail waitress’ or ‘massage therapist’. But then, when she used to go out, she didn’t exactly dress or act like a cop. She had noticed that Dwayne had been unusually attentive to Caroline all that evening. Maybe this was his moment of truth. hmmm? “Well, gentlemen, give me ten minutes to put the final touches to my ensemble and we can be off.”

Richard gathered the breakfast debris and headed for that, which passed for a kitchen. As he was doing the washup, Dwayne commented: “You’re certainly the happy homemaker.” A raised eyebrow silenced any further humorous outbursts. “I’ve lived alone for twenty years Dwayne. I didn’t live on pub food and paper platters.”

A whispering Dwayne: “No ‘roommates’, sir?”

“No Dwayne.”

A now frowning Dwayne: “No weekend ‘guests’?”

“No.”

“But sir, Camille, she has the look.”

“What?”

“The ‘look’!”

“Dwayne, I have no idea what you are talking about.:”

“You know ….. the ‘happy look’.”

“Well I certainly would hope she is happy; we are getting married.”

“No, no, no, I mean the ‘happy …..... happy’ look.”

Richard was now staring at Dwayne with a face that displayed total confusion. Dwayne led his boss back out to the porch and began a slow, painful for both, explanation of the ‘happy happy’ look. “Sir, Camille is special, every guy on the island would give all he’s got for her. The only problem is that she scares the hell out of them. So, after Friday night's party, everybody, they think you must be some kind of man. You know, lots of practice. A man of the world to be handlin’ a woman like Camille. Cause she’s got da look.”

“Are you talking about what I think you are talking about?”

“Yes sir, you know, happy, contented, satisfied, well taken care of, ummmm?”

“Is there no privacy on this island?”

“Of course not, ‘mon amour’” Camille purred. “When and if we decide to start a family, Saint Marie will know before we do!”

Dwayne’s eyes shifted from Richard to Camille and back. “Chief, the ‘look’.” Richard released a long quiet sigh, ‘So much to learn’.

Promptly at nine, the three colleagues ascended the station steps. Approaching the entrance Richard wheeled about and headed back to the vehicle, announcing that he had left his briefcase on the seat. Camille and Dwayne headed for their desks.

Crossing the threshold and approaching his desk Richard was confronted with his three team members stiffly at attention. First, looking for the commissioner and coming a blank, he turned to face his officers. He was met with Dwayne's command of: “Right hand salute!” Three hands snapped to three foreheads. Three right feet lifted and descended in unison with a crisp cry of “Sir!” With a long pause, accompanying an incredulous stare, Richard was speechless. With all three of his police officers holding their salutes, Dwayne suggested quietly: “Sir, it is customary to return the salute. Sir.” Still looking a bit bewildered Richard complied. At the last second remembering to release his grip on the briefcase lest he do himself a mischief. Noticing that his team remained rigidly at attention, he mumbled something that passed for: “As you were.”

Motioning them to be seated, Richard leaned back against the front of his desk. “I think we can dispense with the saluting.”

“But chief, you’re a big chief now.” Dwayne’s tone was almost one of disappointment.

“Does everyone know of my appointment?” Three heads nodded in unison. “Yes, I know. No secrets on Saint Marie. Well, I don’t know the protocol for such matters. But I suspect that if saluting is called for, it will probably be only when I am in uniform. I’m sure the commissioner will bring me up to speed when we meet Wednesday.”

“Sir?” A worried looking Fidel queried. “Will you be moving up to Government House?” I’ve, well we all have learned so much from working with you every day and well I know I've got a lot more to learn.”

“I don’t know for certain, Fidel. But I am relatively sure that most of my time will be spent right here. I may have an office up the hill for official duties. But the commissioner described my responsibilities, as being first and foremost a detective inspector. Second, a tutor/mentor to all of you. And lastly, an administrator and planner.”

As the morning wore on the normal routine and rhythms of the station returned. The big events of the past weekend faded. There was work, to be done. Just before noon Camille finished a phone call and announced: “Sir, that was ‘Le Grande’, they’ve had another storeroom break in. This time it was a bit more than petty pilfering. I need to take Fidel along for evidence gathering. We shouldn't be more than a couple hours.”

“Go, go, mustn't keep the taxpayers waiting. Keep me appraised, I’m sure they’ve already put a call into the commissioner.” Richard returned to his cold case perusal.

“Dwayne, did you top off the petrol in the Defender this morning?”

“Yah, sarge, she’s good to go.”

With half the team off to fight the forces of evil, Richard headed for the refrigerator to seek a moments cool respite and a bottle of water. “Dwayne, water?”

“Yes chief. Thanks.”

Stopping at Dwayne’s desk, Richard sat in the interviewees chair and looked intently at his senior officer. Dwayne returned his bosses gaze with apprehension. “I …. done somethin’ wrong chief?”

“No, Dwayne. Except for a minor mischief now and again, you are as good an officer as I have ever served with. With my promotion, Camille will start prepping for the DI exam. I have no doubt that with her education and extensive experience, that shall be accomplished forthwith. As senior officer you are next in line for the sergeant's exam. I have copious notes and study guides to help in that task.”

“Whoa, ah, ah, sir! I’m good at what I do. You know. Out and about. Known’ the players. Which rocks to turn over. Who to trust? Who not? I’m not a leader of men. I’m a good street cop. Fidel’s your man. He’s young, a family man, responsible, smart, got a good head on his shoulders. He’ll be commissioner someday. You can bet on it!”

“Dwayne, I want you happy. You’re an important member of this team.”

“Don’ worry chief, you keep the team together, I'll be a happy camper. I been here almost twenty years now. An’ this is the best it’s ever been. The commissioner and you have made this a job to be proud off. It just use’ to be a paycheck. Now, it's a lot more.”

Richard returned to his desk a wiser and happier man.

**Wednesday:** (Twenty-four days and counting!)

The Defender pulled up to Government House at eleven forty-five and the usual Richard Poole descended. Clad in his ubiquitous grey suit and armed with his ever present and battered briefcase. G House was the local’s slang for the adobe and stone edifice. Formerly the lower Caribbean seat of successive governments, it was an unassuming structure of mixed architectural parentage. Outside, each new colonial master had put their imprimatur upon it. Inside, there was a distinctive English feel to the building. Imported marble floors, dark mahogany paneling and rich leather furniture. And of course, the portrait. The Queen in full ceremonial regalia. Cool, dark, elegant, a reminder of wealth and power.

“Bon jour, Chief Poole. Congratulations on your new appointment.” The young receptionist greeted Richard with a blazing smile and intense eye contact. “The commissioner indicated that I should bring you up immediately.” Her smile and exaggerated walk made Richard wish that Camille were at hand. For two years he had managed to be virtually invisible. But now, one song, one punch (well actually two), and one marital engagement. Suddenly, he was the most desired male on the whole bloody island! Why was he always the one, who knew least and last?

Entering the commissioner’s ‘sanctum sanctorum’, Richard was greeted by an ‘old world’ display of power. The office took the entire width of the northern half of the second floor of the building. As you approached the oversized oak desk, the area from the double doors to the desk was wide open. The visitor was left to feel exposed and vulnerable. The north, east, and west sides of the office were floor to ceiling double French louvered doors leading to a wraparound veranda covered by the extended tile roof. To the west side of the office was a seating group of two Chesterfield sofas and four matching club chairs. On the east side were four, four setting tables and chairs that could be used for dining or combined for conference. In his two plus years on Saint Marie this was his first visit to the ‘throne room’.

Richard was startled by the sudden appearance of the commissioner from behind a door that blended seamlessly with the paneling. An extended hand and a hearty: “Welcome Richard, welcome.” Richard felt himself guided to the seating area, where he and the commissioner assumed chairs facing each other. Once settled, Marie, the Patterson’s cook/maid entered with tea service. Richard’s smile of approval brought a blush to Marie’s face as she scurried away.

“You are developing quite a following Richard. And you told me you were no politician. I believe your dormant skills just needed the correct venue and inspiration. It would appear, that Saint Marie and Camille Bordey fill those rolls perfectly!”

“Now, to business. In the short run your duties will remain virtually unchanged. This being the off season for tourism, and the quietest crime time, I suspect that you'll have more time to assist Camille and Fidel. Moving them up the ladder, so to speak, should be our top priority. Oh! Dwayne called me earlier. He wanted me to know how much the team needs you ‘down the hill’ and that he “really, really” wants to stay ‘on the street’.

Richard laughed quietly. “You know sir, Dwayne is smart enough to make sergeant rather easily. But he likes the kind of work he does. And I have no idea how I would train anyone to replace him. I rather think of him as our undercover agent in plain sight! He always knows, what’s ‘goin’ down’.”

“Richard, I understand you’ve been riding with the night patrol on occasion.”

“Yes, sir. I wanted to get a feel for what the island is like after dark. It was also a chance to evaluate our two non-sworn patrol members. With their lack of experience, I didn’t want them stumbling into something they couldn’t handle. Both young men seem quite capable and eager to advance.”

“The budget summary you sent over on Monday, suggested a couple of ideas that I've been pondering. The amount of money we have been paying the forensic lab on Guadeloupe is quite exorbitant. On a per test basis, we pay more for basic fingerprint match and blood analysis than we used to pay back in London. And what is worse is that we must wait three to five days for the results and pay courier fees both ways. For about a thousand we could convert that small storage room into a rather smashing basic lab. Fidel and I have been doing some of this type work at the beach house when time was at a premium. The savings in one-year would pay for my second idea.”

“We need two additional vehicles. The night patrol needs their own transportation, if for no other reason than to save them from having to come to Honore to pick up and return the Defender. Since they don’t haul a lot of gear a small Jeep would do the trick. I should have a vehicle as well. It wastes valuable man hours sharing the Defender and motorcycle. A Jeep would be the type of small, nimble unit that could get us in and out of places the larger Defender can’t go. Plus, I’d like to set the Defender up as a dedicated CSI mobile lab. Two used Jeeps can be found for ten thousand or less, each. Tomas already does the service work on the Defender and he works on all the jitneys on the island. They’re all jeep based. No problem with parts.”

“Well, Richard you certainly don’t waste time. I like that. Being ready for growth is vital to our protecting the interests of all our citizens. Put your proposal in writing and we shall present it to the council at the next meeting. I believe it shall be received favorably.”

“I have your commission here merely awaiting your signature. The emergency meeting also put in place the mechanism to take over Sir Evene’s business interests. Seems he has abandoned all and fled to healthier climes.”

“I have taken the liberty of making an appointment for you on Friday with Henri, my tailor on Guadeloupe. Camille, Catherine and Simone will be accompanying you. They will be meeting with Nicole, Henri’s wife. She is a fashion designer and dressmaker ‘extraordinaire’! Luncheon will be my treat at the ‘Bayside Bistro’.

“Thank you, sir that is most generous.”

“Now then. Today’s meal was specially prepared for you Richard by my Simone. She saw how enthusiastically you attacked the seafood platter that Catherine had made for you Friday night.”

“Marie, we’ll have lunch now.”

While they had talked business, Marie had set one of the tables for the luncheon. As Selwyn and Richard approached the table Richard’s anxiety level suddenly increased exponentially. ‘Oh No! Chopsticks!’ The last time he had dined with chopsticks, more food had ended on the floor than in his mouth. Upon being seated, Marie brought a decanter of warm intoxicant. ‘Oh No! Saki!’ Two large chilled platters with domed, silver covers brought his fear to terror level. His brain began a recitation of every possible water borne, bacterial misery that could be inflicted on humanity by, …........ ‘Oh No! Sushi!!! With the covers removed, worst fears confirmed, Richard sat in stunned silence.

“Is there something wrong. Richard?”

“No, no, no, it’s just that this is by far the most beautiful presentation I have ever seen. Absolutely gorgeous, hate to disturb the symmetry, too beautiful to disturb. Wow wish Camille could see this. Oh yum.”

“You need not be concerned. We sent a selection over to the station for the team. I understand that you like horseradish with your roast beef. Try the special Japanese version in the center cup, Simone mixes wasabi with horseradish and some special herbs and a touch of a ghost pepper.” Upon maneuvering a piece of ‘mystery’ fish to the cup and then to his mouth, Richard’s eyes began a nonstop flow of tears. His mouth, tongue and lips had been cauterized by the foreign condiment.

“Sir,” Richard was finally able to speak. “I see that you are quite skilled in the use of the chopsticks. Is there some special knack? I’m afraid I’m quite the bumbler.” “I cheat Richard.” Confessed the commissioner with a rumble of laughter. “I skewer the piece I want with one stick then squeeze with the second. Looks like I know what I'm doing.”

With a numb mouth, and a newfound ‘cheaters’ skill with chopsticks, Richard was able to finish his ‘lunch with the commissioner’. No food on the floor. An anesthetized mouth, lips, tongue and hopefully digestive tract. Now if he could just make it back to the station and lock himself in the loo for the next twenty-four hours, he might recover sufficiently for his Friday excursion. Lunch, one more addition to the list of: ‘Things to survive in Paradise!’

**Friday:** (Twenty-two days and counting!)

The Augurs did not bear good tidings! Winds out of the north at 20 mph with gusts to 35 mph. A lumpy ride to Guadeloupe. Richard, ever the boy scout at heart, had anti-motion sickness patches for each member of his party. Seeing Richard place a patch on his arm while dressing, Camille said: “I thought you were the ‘ancient mariner’.” “I’m still recovering from lunch with the commissioner.” Was Richard’s mournful reply.

A quick stop at the station to drop off the Defender, and a brisk walk in the rain and wind brought them to the Honore town dock. Except for the palm trees, temperature, and bright blue water, one could almost believe that one was back in England.

Waiting at the ticket kiosk and shelter were Catherine and Simone. Their travel party was now complete. The ferry was nearly empty. Commuters having taken the earlier boat and the weather discouraging the casual traveler and tourist. Choosing a table, amidships and over the engines, the motion of the ship was minimal.

Richard enjoyed the enthusiasm and good humor of the three women. Their laughter was musical and a distraction from the minor stomach upset he was still grappling with. It was strange how captivating women’s laughter could be. He daily struggled to find ways to provoke a bit of mirth from Camille. It fascinated him that in the process of self-analysis he had found that the two things that he most enjoyed and craved were: a good cuddle and the sound of Camille’s laughter. He pondered if that was normal? Oh well, when had he ever been normal?

“Richard?” Camille’s voice brought him back from his reverie.

“Yes Luv?”

“You looked so very far away.”

“I was just enjoying the sound of your laughter. It made me smile. You know I’ve spent most of my life frowning. It's nice to have things to smile about on a regular basis. Ladies may I interest you in a cuppa? Richard was off to procure their refreshment.

Lumpy seas and bad tea, not withstanding, good company made for a quick and pleasant voyage. Arriving at Pointe-a-Pitre on Grande Terre, Guadeloupe the four quickly made their way to ‘La Maison de Henri et Nicole’.

Upon entering, attendants immediately assisted in unburdening them of their outer garments. They were next served their choice of tea coffee espresso cappuccino and petit fours and cucumber sandwiches. After introductions the ladies adjourned to Nicole's salon and workroom. Richard and Henri ensconced themselves in two massive wingback chairs flanking a fireplace helping to burn off the excessive humidity.

“Now then Monsieur Poole, I am Henri Moreau. I apprenticed and served at two establishments on your Savile Row for fifteen years. I married Nicole, an established Parisian fashion designer nearly twenty years ago. We opened our joint enterprise here on Nicole's home island shortly after our marriage. Even though I am French, and we are an ocean apart from Savile Row I am confident that I can give every satisfaction. I have checked the three tuxedos that you sent over yesterday. The two single breasted ones are of excellent quality and alterations should go quite smoothly. With your permission I will sell the double breasted one with the nineteen-thirty's satin lapels to a theatrical costume rental shop. It ought to bring two hundred, it is quite a relic. Follow me please. Would you like a stronger libation? Some of my clients find the results of the tape measure to be most distressing.”

“M. Moreau, I am a policeman, a man of facts, a man who knows that the tape does not lie, so let the tape do its worst.” Having stripped down to his boxers, the measurement process was proceeding smoothly until Mme. Moreau, Catharine, Simone, and Camille all brushed through the curtain and entered the fitting salon.

“Doesn’t he look cute in his little plaid boxers? Camille exclaimed. Richard with eyes closed and face tilted toward the ceiling cried “TARTAN!” “Now Richard, calm yourself and tell us which of these three dresses you like best.” With as much dignity as his nearly naked state would allow, Richard cast a critical eye on the aforementioned garments. To his surprise, he found all three rather attractive. “I prefer the one that Simone is wearing. The flowers are smaller and there is more greenery. It seems more balanced. Who will be wearing these?” “These are for the bride's maids, and we liked all three.” Camille’s explanation. “How many bride’s maids will there be?” “Three.” “Well then, why don’t you use all three dresses? Or is there some sort of rule that I am not aware off?”

“Parfait!”

“Oui!”

“Formidable!”

“Magnifique!”

“I told you he could help. Here, look at his feet. Are those sexy feet or not?”

Richard stood stock still as four French women bent over to examine his feet, and a man was sliding a tape measure up his pants to take an inside leg. Somehow, boarding school, in preparing him to be a ‘proper English gentleman’ had neglected to prepare him for this. As quickly as they had come, the ladies were gone.

“M. Moreau, does this happen often?”

“Oh M. Poole, my Nicole is a very determined woman. I have learned to never question and to never get in the way.”

“Well, I am English and I just do not understand French Women at all!”

“Monsieur, I am French, and I do not understand French women!”

“Then I am doomed?”

“Mais oui Monsieur, doomed to a life of joy, love and satisfaction that only gets better with age. Like a fine vintage French wine.

The gentlemen finished their work, with Richard choosing a lightweight Scottish wool for his two bespoke suits and a matching vest for a more formal look, when appropriate. They agreed on Saturday next for a first fitting. They adjourned to the fireplace and a restorative cognac.

“M. Poole your uniform will be a blue to match the uniforms of your officers. We wouldn’t want there to be any confusion with the commissioner’s ‘accoutrement’?”

“Heaven forbid, no!”

As they chuckled in a new spirit of comradeship, the men were interrupted by the entrance of the four new conspirators. Looking toward the women, Richard was alarmed by the obvious sign that all four had been crying. Rushing to Camille’s side he questioned: “Are you alright? what happened? What's wrong? Wait. ..... Are these sad tears or happy tears?”

“The happiest of tears. Nicole is a sorceress, she has waved her magic wand, she has read my mind and created absolute perfection. The dresses are exactly as I dreamed; they’d be.”

With all goals successfully met, the happy foursome exchanged warm hugs and kisses as they took their leave from Henri and Nicole.

The walk to Bayside Bistro was less stressful since the wind had diminished considerably. The rain was now a mere shower easily held at bay by their ‘brollies’.

The lunch was a veritable feast. To the very ‘English’ Richard, for whom food was merely ‘fuel’, the onslaught of dishes was a bit overwhelming. But, by watching and listening to his three very French companions, he soon began to perceive the luncheon as both art and taste. His only disappointment was a dish of three small medallions of beef that he could swear had melted in his mouth. He could easily have eaten a hundred of the tiny delights. Ever the detective, Richard wondered how many plates, glasses and silver had passed across their table in the last hour and a half. The bistro must employ an army of dishwashers. What was most fascinating was how all those one and two bite dishes and the half dozen wines presented had satisfied but not stuffed or inebriated. Everything had blended so smoothly, and the service had been impeccable and nearly invisible.

Without warning the double doors to the kitchen burst open and Richard, first thought he was seeing a snowman! The dining room spontaneously burst into applause. It was Ramon! The owner and chef, in immaculate grey and white pinstripe trousers, white double-breasted tunic, apron, and pristine toque. He passed through the dining room nodding regally, acknowledging the tribute.

Ramon threw open his arms and cried: “Mes amis!” He advanced and kissed each lady's hand, producing broad smiles and girlish blushes. Richard stood, to greet the approaching man and was immediately engulfed in massive bearhug, kisses to both cheeks and the exclamation: “Mesdames et messieurs, je vous donne monsieur Richard Poole, le tueur de dragon!” Once again, the room erupted in applause. Richard nodded his thanks and quickly resumed his seat. “Monsieur Poole, Sir Evene was a ‘cochon degoutant et vil’! All of Guadeloupe honors you. And tell the commissioner that the luncheon is as you say? ‘On the house?’ ‘Un paiement de gratitude.

On their brief stroll to the ferry, Richard ruminated on how this remarkable woman, at his side, had altered his very perception of even the most basic of experiences. The tropical night sky, how food looked and tasted, his new physical relationship with people, in general it had all been so quickly changed. She was mystery and delight. This transformation was more than a bit frightening but oh so exhilarating. This last week had been the wildest ride he had ever experienced.

Settled in for a more comfortable ride home. The rain and distant thunder created a rather cocoon like effect. The sea was smaller, the clouds hovering above them acted like a blanket, and the drone of the engines created a sense of security. All was well.

As Richard relaxed in his bliss, he became aware of pressure being applied to his inner thigh. Unprepared for such intimacy he experienced an involuntary response. Looking to his right he was met with the most salacious, lecherous, and wickedly lustful look he had ever seen. “Camille!” He whispered. She leaned toward him and at the same time firmly grasped her intended goal. With her lips to his ear she asked: “You know what the ‘mile high club’ is?” He nodded yes. “Shall we start a ‘sea level club’?” Richard had never known such conflict.

“Richard,” Catherine voice calmly cut through the chaos of his brain’s turmoil. ‘The wine bar is open; would you be a dear and get us a nice Pinot Noir.” Looking toward Camille, he was met with a smirk and a: “Yes Richard, that would be lovely.” Releasing her grip, she nodded toward the bar at the end of the boat. With the full dignity of a proper English gentleman Richard rose, briefcase pressed firmly to his belt and marched to his task. The return trip was a bit tricky. Holding a tray with a full open bottle of wine and four glasses, plus a briefcase all in such a manner as to preserve one’s decorum was a challenge. In his mind’s eye he kept seeing Peter Sellars in multiple embarrassing movie scenes. He made it to the table, was able to set the tray down without dumping the wine on any of his companions and resumed his chair with briefcase still firmly in place. Camille leaned again to Richard and whispered: “You are becoming a worthy challenge. But, ‘mon cherie’, ‘resistance is futile’!”

Yes, he knew this was no game he could win. But he was coming to understand that it wasn’t about winning or losing, it was all about the loving. Paradise was getting better every day!


	8. The Parents Are Coming!  The Parents Are Coming!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pooles have actually arrived.  
> What now?  
> Can Richard find common ground with two people who he knows only by phone and small parcels at Christmas and birthdays?  
> Will Camille be able to work her people skills on these two stiff, proper, tweedy exemplars of the British middle class?  
> Will the Major yield to Saint Marie's island magic?  
> Both Camille and Richard have spend a sleepless night (and it wasn't because of fun and frolic).  
> Oh. No! the parents ARE here!

**Saturday:** (Seven days and counting!)

Richard rarely wore sunglasses or hats. Some people had a natural flair, a certain panache that gave them an air of glamour when thus attired. Richard, on the other hand, always felt as if he were involved in a salacious scandal and was skulking about incognito trying to hide from the paparazzi. Today though, his attire was purely practical.

It was one of those rare crystalline days, no clouds, low humidity, everything in sharp contrast. A world that was suddenly too clear, too well defined, too precise, it didn’t look real. The kind of day and scene, that shot through the appropriate filters would look rich and lush on a resort brochure. But the reality was harsh. The sky was high and white, the product of the intense glare. Even with the darkest aviator sunglasses, he still had to squint. The light washed the lush greens of the foliage to a pastel palette. The sea, though calm, sparkled, glittered, and danced as if coming to the boil.

“Relax Richard, relax.” That wonderful, oh so French accent, that once was his torment, and now the balm that instantly brought him comfort.

“I’m fine Camille. I feel a bit foppish in my new attire. I’m afraid father will find my ensemble a bit beyond the acceptable.”

“Well a pox on papa, I think that your white shoes, white suit, mint green shirt and the white panama hat make you look good enough to eat. Yum! Yum! Yum!” Turning to look at Camille, Richard was once again astonished by her ability to convey so much with just her eyes. Eyes that could sparkle, smolder, flame, and always dazzle and distract.

Richard’s gaze was drawn to the faint buzz of a distant aircraft. “Camille, up to your right, they’re almost here.” Following his arm and pointing finger, she looked up with a somewhat perplexed expression. “Why are they flying away?” “They really aren’t, they’re on the downwind leg of the landing. We only have one runway here on Saint Marie and no control tower. We must observe VFR (visual flight rules) procedures. The pilot flies parallel to, and down the length of the runway to be sure it is clear of traffic. next he or she will turn left or right to fly the crosswind leg to bring the plane to the course that leads to the runway. At that point another left or right-hand turn, into the wind and the final descent to the landing. At the same time, they will be monitoring an agreed upon radio channel so that all air traffic in the area knows what is going on. That is an oversimplification, but that’s why they’re not flying away.”

“For someone who hates to fly, you are certainly well informed. Richard, amongst your many surprises are you by any chance a pilot?”

“Ahhhhh, yes, well, sort of, not anymore.” he mumbled.

“You hate to fly, and yet you are a pilot. Would you care to enlighten me?”

With a look of extreme pain Richard explained: “I don’t just not like flying, I am terrified of flying. While at uni I joined a support group of likeminded individuals, many of whom became nauseous merely at the sight of a photograph of an aircraft. One of the many therapies recommended was taking lessons and obtaining a pilot's license. In so doing, one would gain a sense of control, and therefore confidence and security. I did fine until my solo. Suddenly, as I was flitting about the sky, I became acutely aware that I was all alone. I managed to get the plane to ground in one piece, consequently passing my finals and obtained my license and have never laid hand to yoke since.”

“Did the therapy work?”

“No, it had quite the opposite effect. With thorough and professional training, I now know every possible, horrifying event that can transpire, either due to mechanical, metrological, or pilot incompetence.”

“Oh Richard.”

“It’s alright Camille, you may laugh, everyone else does.”

“Oh ‘mon coeur’ how do you manage to fly?”

“Self-hypnosis and industrial strength tranquilizers!”

“Mon pauvre bebe! Camille clutched Richard’s arm as they turned to watch the plane make its final descent.

The aircraft’s arrival was marked by two small puffs of blue smoke, the apparent squatting and rising of the plane. Two more puffs of smoke, the nose wheel touchdown and the almost immediate roar of engines as the pitch of the props was reversed. The plane rapidly taxied to the area where Camille and Richard waited. As they moved closer to the gate in the chain-link fence, the twin engine aircraft gracefully turned to expose its starboard side to the waiting observers. With the right engine shut down, the cabin door swung down exposing the built-in steps. The left engine continued to run since this would be a quick turnaround flight.

Descending the steps were a young, very touristy couple met by a jitney from one of the hostels up near the volcano. Next were Dr. William and Dr. Samantha Milburn, husband and wife pediatricians and bastions of Saint Marie’s social and philanthropic elite, now returned from a seminar in Puerto Rico. They were followed closely by a slender elegant man in a light crème colored suit with matching panama hat who had turned to hand down a slim blonde woman in a yellow sundress. Richard exhaled explosively: “My god it’s them, I think? It’s mother, but, but, but, unless she’s picked someone up on the way over, that must be my father!!”

As the two couples approached each other Camille marveled at how the two men could easily pass for brothers. Camille and Millicent's greetings were all hugs, kisses and expressions of joy and pleasure at finally meeting in person. In contrast, Richard and the Major stood rigidly facing one another. Tentatively, each man offered his hand in a firm businesslike grip. John broke the silence with a terse: “You’re looking quite fit Richard.” Richard’s response equally spare: “As do you, sir.”

After a pause, Richard extended his hand to Camille and drew her to his side. “Camille, I should like you to meet my father, Major John Poole. Sir, this is my fiancé Mademoiselle Camille Bordey.” Without hesitation Camille stepped forward, grasped John in a warm embrace, and administered kisses on both cheeks, and exclaimed: “You two look more like brothers than father and son. I shall have to be very careful that I do not mix you two up.” Richard ‘s eyes widened as he watched his oh so proper father blush from collar to hairline. Removing his hat with his left hand and taking Camille’s right hand he gallantly kissed it and declared: “Enchante Mademoiselle Bordey, your pictures and videos fail to do you justice. Oh, I'm the one with the grey hair.”

During this exchange Richard had slid behind and passed Camille in order that he might exchange hugs and kisses with his mother. “Mother, I'm astonished. You look fabulous. At least twenty years younger! You both look as though you’ve discovered the fountain of youth.” “It’s all your fault Richie. I’m sorry, Richard! We thought we had lost you. These last two years we were grieving. We lost you and we had no idea how to find you. We knew where you were physically, but you were still lost to us. And then a month ago that magical call. And Camille. What an angel. It was a tonic. We were restored. Our son had returned. Now, go to your father, talk to him. He has much to say to you. But you will have to be the initiator. But I guarantee, once you get him started all you’ll have to do is nod and mumble now and again. I have days' worth of conversation to share with Camille. And yes Richard, when I'm done, Camille will know every embarrassing detail of your life! Now. Go!”

Richard turned toward the Major in time to hear Camille suggest that he put his hat back on. The sun was especially brutal today. The Major obeyed instantly. Camille reached out and cutting his Panama to a slightly more rakish angle, purred: “Better, much better.” And ‘old stone face’ beamed like a schoolboy, ready to bust his buttons. ‘My god, the woman owned any man that came within sight.’

Richard stepped to Camille’s side as his mother joined the Major. Camille expressed her joy at the Poole's joining them for the grand event. Turning her head to Richard, she proclaimed: “Richard, your mother is absolutely adorable, and you father is oh so charming. How did theses lovely people manage to produce such a grumpy, grouchy old thing like you?” Her voice spoke only love and no insult. Richard smiled: “Oh it was all boarding school. I majored in grumpy and grouchy, double firsts!” Kissing his cheek, she interjected: “so the loving you is due to these wonderful people?” His simple reply: “So it would seem. Can’t fight good genes.” Now with everyone in good spirits, Camille could relax and let the day proceed.

Richard noted the approach of a garishly decorated homemade pushcart, laden with, hopefully. his parent's luggage. “Sir let us check and make certain your kit is all here.” As the men strode off to make their inspection, Camille and Millie linked arms and began a comfortable amble toward the waiting jitney.

“Camille, you are a marvel. You have my Jonny and your Richard eating out of your hand! I didn’t realize that my son had a sense of humor. ‘Double firsts in grumpy and grouchy’. Oh my. I knew we had a clever, even genius son but warm and funny? What have you done to our boy? Oh, and please don’t stop! He actually hugged and kissed me with enthusiasm. And when I returned his hug it was a human being and not a rigid statue that I held. I regret that we only have a week to rediscover our son.”

“I do not believe I have done anything to him. I think that Richard found a place where his talent was seen, not as a threat but as an inspiration. Once he stopped having to battle the insults and belittlements of envious and jealous colleagues, he was able to be a mentor and natural leader. Here on Saint Marie, over time, he found respect, friendship, and even love. It was a slow and somewhat difficult process. Being brilliant always made him an outsider. Whether it was boarding school, university, or the MET, he had no opportunity to develop social skills. I must admit, that even though I found him fascinating right from the very beginning. There were numerous times I would have gladly strangled him with my bare hands. He was ‘So English’! oops! Sorry!” Both women laughed at Camille’s last declaration. “Unless you have an important reason to return to England quickly, we would love to have you stay as long as you wish. I think it would allow for a reconnection with Richard at a more comfortable pace.”

“But what about your honeymoon?”

“Richard and I have been ‘honeymooning’ ever since that memorable Friday party when all of this came to a head. With our small police force, and Richard and I being the only officers, technically we both can’t be away on leave together. As soon as Fidel makes sergeant, then we can take an extended weekend. But our little shack by the sea is like being on holiday every day!”

“Camille, I, ah, well, I'm sorry, but where is your ring?”

Camille blushed, laughed nervously and finally confessed: “It's on the table next to the bed. Richard and I were both so excited about your arrival that I forgot to wear my ring and he forgot to wear his vest and socks.” One day we’re so calm, even blasé about our coming nuptials. So adult and mature. And then we become as foolish as two kids running off to elope, all giggles and silliness. My god, I’m thirty, he’s forty-two! We’re not exactly children. Yet, I feel exactly like that little girl I once was, waiting for Pere Noel at Christmas! I even caught Richard talking to Harry one morning, out on the porch. He was laughing and repeating, ‘she’s really going to marry me’, over and over. People must think that we’ve lost our minds.”

“Oh, my child, do not fret, you are just in that wonderful state of bliss, where you are experiencing a long-held dream coming true. Relish, savor, and even wallow in this great joy. Age is irrelevant, I fell in love with my Jonny a second time fifteen years ago when he retired. And who is Harry?”

“Ah, Harry is a lizard, more correctly, an anolis marmoratus or commonly called a leopard anole. Richard found ‘Harry’ as a resident of the ‘shack’ when he moved in two and a half years ago. Harry has trained Richard to provide a special meal of mashed mangoes and mosquitoes every twelve hours. Harry became Richard’s first friend on Saint Marie.”

“Now that sounds like my Richie. Oh drat, I swore that I would only refer to him as Richard. Please kick me if I forget. I know he hates all forms of diminutives of his name. I remember he had a personal nemesis at the MET who called Richard every childish name possible.”

“That was Doug Anderson, who Richard put in prison for murder about six months ago. No more name calling. And no, no, no, I am certainly not going to kick you!” Both women laughed in the comfortable manner of two longtime friends. “I am eager for you and Catherine to meet. Millie, you and Maman will get on splendidly.”

As the women continued toward their conveyance, John noted to his son: “The ladies seem to be getting on famously.”

“No doubt sir, no doubt. They are much alike. Nary a mean bone betwixt then. Both, kind, warm, generous, and loving souls.”

“It would seem, my lad, that the fates have been most beneficent to us.”

“Yes sir, I do believe we have both won large.”

“Richard, I know this may be a bit premature. What with us having spent our lives at arm's length. But would it be too much to hope that you might call me father rather than sir? You may think otherwise, but I really have never thought of myself as your commanding officer.”

Richard paused before responding, his brain raced, this was not the man he had expected. Suddenly, clarity, he was not the man he had been two years ago, why shouldn’t his father have changed as well? “Sir.” With a shake of his head and a small chuckle: “Father. Yes, I would much prefer that. ‘Sir’ wasn’t a title. it was a wall I couldn’t break through or climb over.” Both men reached out and engaged in an awkward and clumsy first attempt at a hug. Each stepped back, clearing their collective throats and working to regain their composure. “Well, Richard, I do believe we’ll have to work on that a bit.” “Yes sir, ahhh father, sir.” At that both men fell into a hearty laugh. Luggage, all present and accounted for, father and son strolled behind the cart on the short passage to the waiting jitney.

Bags stored and secure, the ladies took the first bench seat, the men the second, and the golf bags the third. A leisurely hours' drive along the scenic coastline would bring them to chateau Poole et Harry. Richard looked from Camille to his mother and now his father. No longer strangers, but family. The magic of the islands was hard at work. As the trip proceeded, Richard and Camille took turns playing tour guide. As experienced police officers, they both new every nook and cranny of Sainte Marie as well as a fair amount of the flora and fauna.

Upon arrival at the ‘shack’, the bags were secured inside the back door for easy transfer later in the day when Selwyn and Simone would pick up their houseguests. Rounding the house, John and Millie stopped and exclaimed at the beauty of Camille and Richard’s everyday vista.

“By god man, with that gorgeous woman at your side, this view, and the wonderous scenery we passed on our way here, how do you ever get any work done?”

“This may be hard to believe, but until Camille, I was oblivious to all of these glorious sights and sensations. The island of Saint Marie was too hot, too humid, too bright, too noisy, just plain too much. But the people, the team, I was finally working with officers who wanted to do good work, who wanted to learn, who wanted to grow and who didn’t worry about credit. Once I started making connections with people, I began to be aware of my environment. Slowly I became anchored or rooted if you will, to a place and a people.”

Camille queried: “I’m not sure what time your bodies are operating on? But here it is lunch time. In our excitement this morning Richard and I made do with only tea for breakfast. Come, stop gawking like tourists, freshen up and make yourselves comfortable while Richard and I put luncheon together.”

“I say, Richard, you have a tree growing up through your roof. Is that a custom here in the islands? Quite a conversation starter. Was it here first? Or did it just come up through the floor? And people call us Brits eccentric. Ha!”

“Really don’t know father, it was here when I arrived. Would have trimmed it down but it is Harry’s home and he has seniority rights.”

“Camille, would it be rude if we changed into something more casual?” Mille’s voice had that wonderful musical quality that Richard remembered from his early years of piano and voice lessons. It was almost as though she were singing and talking at the same time.

“Of course not. Please make yourselves as comfortable as you wish. Which of your bags will you need?”

“Not sure, worry not, Jonny and I will sort it all out.”

The foursome gathered about the table, on the porch. The ladies enjoying mimosas while the men took their pleasure in bottles of ale. “You’ve gone all colonial on us lad. Cold ale? Have I failed you that badly?” Richard’s laughing reply: “I guarantee that by the end of the week, father, you will have come to relish ‘a cold one’, just like the rest of us. The unrelenting heat is an enemy. Dehydration is a very real danger. So, if you and mother are going to hit the links as do the ‘mad dogs and Englishmen’ do, please consume copious water. Normal temps at this time of year are in the 90s F and 100s F. So, beware! Also, hats and sunblock. SPF 1,000,000 for we frightfully pale folk.”

Camille left the table briefly and returned flashing her ring to one and all. Millie proclaimed her joy with an: “Oh my, that is absolutely stunning.” The Major observed: “Not as beautiful as the wearer.” Richard sat in bemused silence. ‘By god the old man new how to lay it on!’ It was amazing the effect that Camille had on all who she touched. She was like a magnet that drew the very best in people to her. As she had told him, ‘resistance is futile’. Well he certainly hadn’t offered much resistance since that epic Friday night. He wondered if he could get the commissioner to declare that date a Saint Marie holiday. Now that would be a rather impressive wedding present for his ‘incroyable’ Camille.

The luncheon that Catherine and crew had prepared and sent to the shack, was a superb crab salad with an enormous multi fruit platter and fresh from the oven croissants. Desert was a three-flavor sorbet with miniature chocolate hazelnut petit fours. An excellent pinot grigio from Catherine’s private stock topped the midday feast.

“With a contented sigh, John ventured: “Well done Richard. You're marrying into gourmet heaven.”

Both Richard and Camille broke into quiet fits of laughter. “Forgive us father but food preparation is not on our list of accomplishments.”

“That’s not completely true, Richard does whip up a masterful fry-up. His full English breakfast is our Sunday morning treat. And I am a culinary artiste when it comes to movie night popcorn. Richard and I have, in a sense, been married to our jobs. Therefore, we are both weak in the domestic arts. We both wanted more but had nearly given up on love and domesticity. Then fate intervened, and I came back to Saint Marie via undercover work in Paris and Guadeloupe. Richard exiled from London by his loathsome colleagues. Then a two-year courtship that neither of us recognized as even existing. Bickering, battling, annoying, fascinating, and inspiring was our ‘modus operandi’. And now our greatest joy? We can share our fondest dream with those we most love.”

Millie reach over to Camille and caressed her cheek. “I have always wanted a daughter. And joy of joys I have a beautiful daughter and my son has returned. I can ask for no more. This is one of the happiest days of my life. Now, I will cry. Jonny, handkerchief, if you please.” Jonny’s response was instantaneous. Camille extended her hand to Richard, which he promptly filled with the same desired item. He looked to his father and both men smiled contentedly. This was one time when two tearful females were not a call to panic.

The afternoon evolved into a quiet exchange of stories, revelations, histories and tales of days and years gone by. Camille was surprised and then saddened by seeing that Richard was learning as much about his childhood and family as was, she. Silently she thought, ‘no child of ours will ever be sent away to a boarding school’. Her thought was interrupted by the Major’s voice.

“Richard, ….. I am so proud of you, and your many accomplishments. But I must apologize and ask your forgiveness. You were so clever, so ingenious, such a bright child, we weren’t quite sure what was best for you. I truly thought sending you to a residence school would help develop your intellect and make you a stronger person. It never occurred to me to ever ask you what you wanted or needed. I was raised by a hard, disciplined military man just as he had been. I say that not as an excuse or rationalization for my poor judgement. I hope it will serve to help you understand why I acted as I did. Richard, I find it most difficult to express my deepest feelings to anyone other than your mother. Please know that I have always loved you and always will.”

‘This was a four-handkerchief revelation.' Camille in her forthright manner blurted. "Richard, you have a remarkably brave father. It takes a special courage to make that kind of confession. I’m impressed.”

Richard turned to Camille with a small rueful smile: “Right you are my love, as always, right you are.” Looking to his father and in a calm and subdued voice stated: “Father, two years ago I could not have accepted your apology. I would, most likely have flown into a self-righteous tirade, or more accurately a tantrum. But people do change. They can grow. Or, in my case, grow up. There is the old axiom: ‘Old to soon, smart too late’. Thank goodness it’s not too late, for us.” This time the hug was not awkward or clumsy.

“Well lad, what say you introduce me to this Harry of yours. Will he come out for strangers?”

As they ventured inside their conversation continued.

“I should think so father, he is quite social. Come let’s see if he’ll come out to play.”

“Have you taught him any tricks?”

“No father, it’s quite the opposite. He trains me!”

“Oh! Ah! Ha-ha! Jolly good. You’ve become quite the comedian son.”

Camille turned to Millie and with a shake of her head observed: “I would never have guessed, in a thousand years, that this day would have gone as it has.” “Oh, my dear Camille, you know that they’re doing it for us. But with any luck, they too will be the beneficiaries. We are very lucky. We have been blessed with two, truly fine men.”

While savoring the moment, the women, the men, the birds in trees and probably a few fish in the shallows were startled by the bellow of: “Major John Edward Poole, front and center! Quick march! Hut! Hut!” Thus, one and all were aware of the arrival of former Sergeant-Major Selwyn (Selly) Franklin Patterson. The Major burst from the shack, and belying his age, leapt from the porch to the sand and wrapped his old comrade in arms in a bear hug. Amidst hugs, back slaps, and repeated handshakes the two men laughed with an uninhibited glee.

Suddenly, Selly bent over and picked up a small piece of driftwood and snapped it to about a half meter in length. With a crisp salute, he handed it to the Major and exclaimed: “Your baton. Sar!” The Major’s next utterance: “What say you Sergeant-Major?” Selly executed a perfect about-face and cried out: “Fix bayonets!” To everyone's shock and amazement the Major jumped on Selly’s back and pointing his ersatz baton forward, commanded: “CHARGE!” Off they trundled, collapsing in a heap, less than ten meters form their starting point. Laying in the sand the two men laughed until tears rolled down their sandy cheeks. Richard drew three bottles from the infamous yellow plastic tub and set forth on his mission of mercy.

During the commotion, Simone had joined the ladies at the table. More hugs and kisses and exclamations of delight. Simone, holding Millie’s hands, wistfully said: “I’ve missed you my dear friend. I had forgotten how green your eyes are. Richard is a dead ringer for Jonny, but he certainly has your eyes.” Another explosion of laughter from the now three men in the sand. Simone observed: “I don’t know, you take the children to the beach and they just get all rowdy!” More laughter, now from all parties. Camille slipped away and quickly returned with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. “Well ladies, we may as well enjoy ourselves while the children play.”

The parents have arrived!

Next, the Wednesday Stag, Hen, Rehearsal, combo party at La Kaz.

Oh, and the hurricane!


	9. Stags and Hens and Hurricanes!  Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys and Gals and Mother Nature
> 
> Why can't we all just get along?
> 
> Hey, who invited the volcano?

**Wednesday:** (Three days and counting!)

It was still dark. The sea only a few yards away was only a gentle whisper. So quiet that he could still hear Camille’s steady breathing. He craved tea but wouldn’t risk awakening, she who was his everything. He looked into the dark with the hope of seeing, what? The future? He had always been totally focused on the present. But now there was a future!

This was a totally new sensation. He had always been a responsible person, disciplined, hardworking, a man of accomplishment. But ultimately, he had only been responsible for one person, Richard Arthur Poole. Now, that had all changed. He was Honore Chief of Police, Saint Marie Chief of Law Enforcement. He was now responsible for the planning, training and the organization of all of Saint Marie’s police protection.

But now there was so much more. Camille, she didn’t need his financial support. She didn’t need him to provide a roof over her head or food on the table. She was independent, strong, capable of easily providing for herself. What she needed, what she wanted, was that which he had always suppressed, emotional support. His only saving grace was his great love for her. Would it be enough to tide them over until he further learned those vital emotional skills he lacked? Though his heart might be in the right place, this was a woman who would not settle for good intensions. Only actions and results counted. Would he ever be truly worthy of this phenomenal creature?

Now, the responsibilities had grown exponentially. While he had played virtually no role in the planning of the wedding festivities. He, for some reason, felt that he had to make sure that everything was perfect and that everyone was happy and satisfied. Camille, her mother, his parents, for that matter, the entire island, were his responsibility. ‘Nothing like taking on the burdens of the whole world!’ Maybe the sensible course of action was to do as he was told and stand ready to assist as needed. What if the tropical storm, to the east, became a hurricane? What if the volcano erupted? Oh god he was slipping into paranoia.

**********

Only three days to go! The best help he could offer was, be calm and available for any and all last-minute errands and chores Camille might request. That thought helped calm him. He knew his place. He had his plan. Richard silently stood and crept back to bed. Maybe a little sleep or at least a cuddle. Camille was taking the day off to help her mother with the preparations for the prenuptial festivities later in the day. So far crime seemed to have taken a holiday. The Commissioner had arranged for backup manpower from Guadeloupe to cover Saturday and Sunday. So, security for the island was well in hand.

**********

The committee, the ladies (Camille, Catherine, Millicent, Simone, Juliette, Caroline) had planned a unique three in one event for today. Catherine would close La Kaz after the lunch service. At four o’clock the ladies would gather for their ‘Hen’ party at one end of the newly expanded, renovated, and sheltered La Kaz Bar and Bistro. The men (Richard, Pierre, John, Selwyn, Dwayne, Fidel) would meet at the other end for their ‘Stag’ party. After their respective parties, they would meet in the middle for a ‘rehearsal dinner’ to refresh everyone’s memory about where, when and how all would take place on Saturday.

**********

The ladies gathered at the end nearest the small service bar and kitchen. Catherine announced that the wine selections for their gathering had been chosen by Pierre from his private collection. But all manner of libations would also be available. It was four pm sharp and no men. Camille shrugged and remarked that Richard, Dwayne and Fidel were probably waiting for the night crew from the other side of the island to arrive and take over. And the other three had taken off for golf earlier that day and heaven only knew when they might show up. The women agreed that it wasn’t their problem. So long as they all showed up by dinner.

The first bottles were opened, glasses filled, and Catherine asked the assembled women to rise and lift their glasses to those who had not arrived. “Ladies' let us drink to the health of those who are able to drive us to madness even by not being here.” As they were about to drink, an unfamiliar and strange cacophony assaulted their ears. “What in the world is that?” Camille’s cry came with a look of extreme annoyance. They had planned so carefully to avoid any island festivals. Millicent laid her hand on Camille’s arm and with a delighted grin explained: “That my dear is a bugle playing an assortment of field commands!” Accompanying the lone bugler was the Guadeloupe Junior Drum Corp. Looking oh so serious in their matching red shirts, tan shorts and polished red football boots, they played their bass drums, tenor drums, snare drums and cymbals with a precision that was impressive for a group so young.

The next startling revelation was that the bugler was Pete, Catherine’s chef. He was stuffed into a uniform with corporal’s insignia that might have fit twenty-five years ago. But this was just the prelude. Immediately behind the drumline marched in perfect step the Stag party. first was Selwyn in his full-dress commissioner’s uniform adorned with all his military ribbons and medals. Following next were Richard center flanked by Dwayne and Fidel, all attired in their parade best blue dress uniforms. the last rank was Major John Poole in full dress parade uniform and Pierre Boulanger in the uniform of the French Foreign Legion. Both men emblazoned with multiple ribbons and medals.

The men, still in step came up the stairs single file as though heading for the harbor. At the corporal’s command of “halt”, the men stopped in unison. Next order of “right turn” they turned to face the women. Not knowing what to expect next, the women stood frozen in place. After a moment's hesitation, the Major stepped forward. Facing Millicent, he lowered to one knee. He removed his hat while extracting an article from it and without looking handed the hat back to Richard. While never breaking eye contact, he said," Millicent Ann Williams you have blessed my life for fifty years, as a humble offering of my love and respect, will you please accept this ring and join me in renewing our vows, that we might continue our joyous journey.?” For a moment, it looked as though Millie might faint. But regaining her composure, she extended her left hand and almost in a whisper: “Oh yes Jonny, yes, yes yes.” Jonny stood, took Millie in his arms and engaged in a kiss that provoked a quiet gasp from the group. Richard was once again left stunned and amazed. ‘It’s a wonder I don’t have a dozen siblings if that’s what they’ve been about while I was off at school.’ He smiled to himself and surmised that the source of his own passion might not be such a mystery after all. He looked up and caught Camille’s eye. She gave him a knowing look that filled him with warmth and happiness.

Released from the Major’s embrace, Millie flashed the yellow diamond for all to see. Yellow was her favorite color. The color of happiness and joy. A color that would stand boldly against the grey palette of her home, England!

**********

The corporal now issued the final command of “Dismissed.” The men broke rank to head to their own side of the establishment. But they were accosted by the women they had sought to entertain and impress. Their efforts had been a total success! The responses covered the entire gamete from how ‘cute’ they looked in their uniforms, to how ‘no one had ever held a parade for them’. Amidst the laughter, hugs, kisses and general goodwill there also was the pleasure of knowing that they were in the final stretch. They all were in that intense state of impatient anticipation. More like a group of six-year old's waiting for Christmas, rather than a group of mature, worldly adults. They all seemed to be talking and laughing at the same time.

Without warning, Catherine let forth with a near ear shattering whistle that brought quiet to the group. “Mesdames et messieurs, s’il vous plait! Come, follow me to the other side of our establishment. Nodding to Pete and Pierre, she ushered the group to the far end of the multipurpose space. This end of the building originally had a lattice wall to act as sunscreen and windbreak. Now it was covered with tarps. Other structures were also cloaked in plastic and canvas. Another nod to her two assistants and they removed the first covering to reveal two fences coming from either side to an arch in the center which allowed entrance to a small separate area. Removing four more covers revealed two tables each with four low back captain's chairs, and two slightly larger tables with six chairs each. Moving to the corners of the wall Pete and Pierre removed two large tarps to expose corner cozies with just enough room for four on the red leather upholstery. Catherine turned to Richard. “I know we all agreed that there would be no wedding presents. This is not so much a wedding present as a thank you for putting the wheels in motion, nearly three years ago, that brought us all together. You have been the ‘deus ex machina’ that has helped us recover dreams we thought were lost. So, I thought it fitting to provide you with a small island of your own. Your bit of England.” At that declaration, Pete and Pierre withdrew the center tarpaulin to reveal a large stone hearth with hand hewn mantle. Carved into the massive mantle and highlighted with gold paint were the following: ‘KING RICHARD’S PUBLIC HOUSE’ To the right hung a portrait of ‘Queen Elizabeth II’. To the left a portrait of ‘King Richard I, the Lionheart’. The painting bore a remarkable similarity to one in attendance, especially the brilliant green eyes. Richard turned to a beaming Camille and all he could say was: “I have a pub! I have a bloody pub!” He strode over to Catherine, wrapped her in a massive hug, and whispered: “Merci, merci, merci!” over and over. Turning to his now applauding friends he shouted: “Paaaarrrty!” Taking a lit longmatch proffered by Pete, he turned again and set the laid hearth to its purpose.

**********

The two groups separated to conduct their own concept of ‘party’. Pete returned to the six gentlemen who had settled around their chosen table. He noted that six uniform hats sat in neat seniority order upon the mantle. “Gentlemen, the finest rum that Saint Marie has to offer.” He set seven bottles in the center of the table. Opening all seven bottles he proceeded to place a small glass in front of each man, including himself. “Gentlemen, charge your glasses and be upstanding.” They all did, as ordered. “Major, you have the honor. Sar!” Major John Edward Poole turned to the portrait and with voice redolent with the calm dignity of command: “Gentleman, the Queen.” Immediately all replied, “the Queen”. As one, they emptied their glasses. Pete then threw his glass into the hearth. All followed suit. The Major asked: ‘are we well stocked corporal?” “Enough for about twenty rounds Major.” “Well done corporal, carry on.” Pete did a smooth about turn and headed for the next round of glasses.

**********

At the other end of the building seven pair of eyes had rolled nearly in unison as the glasses exploded in the fireplace. Marie who had joined the ladies remarked: “You do have to admitted, they know how to have fun. They start with ‘dress up’, hold a parade, and then they break things.” Much laughter ensued. Caroline observed: “They have seven bottles of rum; I do believe we may need seven wheelbarrows by the end of the evening.” More laughter (this time rueful.) Juliette suggested: “How about we start a tontine.” Who would fall last? More laughter as they tried to determine the value of their men. They finally decided on one-dollar US, per man, it was the most common tourist currency. Juliette asked for a discount since she doubted her Fidel could keep up with the ‘old’ pros.

**********

Selwyn, noting the gaiety coming from the other end of the building observed: “Gentleman, I do believe that we are most likely the inspiration for the jolly behavior at the other table. Therefore, before we are too deep in our cups, I should like to say a few words.” The men responded with the classic unison slapping of the table with the palms of their left hands. This form of applause guaranteed that, one would not lose one’s grip of one’s glass.

“I have had the great good fortune to have married above my station. Some philosopher said that it was always wiser to look up rather than down. I have followed that advise assiduously with my dear Simone. As I look at each of you, I am taken at how the women you have chosen, or more likely have chosen you....” He was interrupted by a unanimous pounding of the table. “..... so well suit your individual personalities. As a nearly lifelong policeman, MP in Her Majesty’s service, the MET in London, and all these years on Saint Marie, I am quite good at noting silent communication. In this last month I have taken special note of the exchange of looks and smiles. We all seem to be in some blissful state that suggests the subtle hand of Erzuli. I’m not suggesting the supernatural, mind you. But rather, the possibility that love is contagious. And, just maybe it can be ‘caught’ over and over and over again. Gentleman, again I say, charge your glasses, full measure, no slackers, and be upstanding.” Collectively turning to the other party across the room they raised their glasses. the Commissioner in full voice proclaimed: “To the ladies of our lives, may God keep and protect them!” Full tots raised and dispatched. Tumblers consigned to the hearth. Preparing to return to their seats, a voice called out.

“Un instant, s’il vous plait, mon amour.” Simone’s silky voice brought the seven men to rapt attention. Ushering her compatriots to the men’s retreat she held her refilled wine glass up in salute and announced: “To our men, may God help them!” the women raised their glasses and joined in the toast. “Our men, may God help them!” With an ease that surprised the men, the ladies drained their glasses and with alarming accuracy cast the empty vessels into the fireplace. Each of the women caught the attention of their own man and eyes smoldered and flashed and promised of special festivities later in the evening. Turning they proceeded with an exaggerated, possibly wine induced nonchalant saunter toward their table. The men watched with a decidedly fake Insouciance.

“I say Selly, old man. There certainly was a great deal of that ‘silent communication’ going on just now. Loud enough to be heard across the harbor, Eh?” Jonny’s observation brought a resounding pounding of the table and cries of: “Here! Here!” and “Well said!”. The bottled island intoxicant had brought them to a state of mellow and reflective fellowship.

**********

“Do you think we shocked them with our ‘gulp and smash’ display just now? Simone’s smirk belied her oh so sophisticated appearance. “I have no doubt they bought it.” Camille chuckled: “But that 50/50 water/grape juice concoction was ghastly.” “I certainly wasn’t going to waste Catherine and Pierre’s wonderful vintages on our little deceit.”

“Now then my daughter.” Catherine uttered with mock severity. “How long must I wait for ‘le petit enfant’? I do not want the poor little thing to grow up thinking that ‘grand-mere’ is an ancient withered old hag!” “Maman, at a hundred you will still have allure.” “Oui, but if I have to wait until then, you will be the old hag who won’t be able to provide what I desire!” The table was now alive with laughter. The loving banter betwixt mother and daughter, with the assistance of an excellent Bordeaux, brought the ladies party precisely to the state of ‘la bonne vouloir’ all desired. “Maman, Richard and I have discussed the matter and decided that we both would like at least a year to just enjoy each other. Can you grant us that much?” “Catherine, I think we should encourage them to ‘enjoy’ frequently, vigorously, and most of all passionately! We may be pleasantly surprised, all the sooner.” Millie’s risqué suggestion raised both smiles and eyebrows. Leaning toward Caroline, Juliette giggled: “This older generation, they certainly are a frisky lot!” “It would seem that it’s more about attitude rather than number of years.” Caroline’s happy response.

“Caroline, time to tell all. None of us have ever seen Dwayne so attentive or serious with one of his ‘friends’. I saw right away at the Friday party. He stayed with you! He talked to you! What magic have you worked? How did you meet? Are there plans?” Camille’s inquiries were expressed with a sincerity that transcended mere gossip mongering.

"It’s only been a month, a little early for conclusions or plans. I met Dwayne at one of the community service days. You know, those days where the adults come and show the children how they do their jobs. Dwayne was a big hit because he showed up on his motorcycle. But then something unexpected happened. He talked to the children in a serious, and age appropriate manner. He got down on the floor with them. He brought copies of a sketch he had done of himself on his motorcycle. They all spent half an hour coloring. He then signed every drawing and handed out Junior Police Badges. He then finished his time with them by giving each student a ride around the football pitch. He was so respectful and kind to those children. And what was most amazing was that he truly seemed to enjoy himself. As he was preparing to leave, I walked up to him and thanked him for his presentation. He had a small smile, not his usual high voltage ‘Hi Yah! Baby!’ grin. He was watching the kids at recess and he remarked that it must be wonderful to work with children all day. Not much of a come-on line. So, I asked him if he’d let me buy him lunch some Saturday and tell him the joys and frustrations of being a teacher of small children. He said yes, hesitated and then said that I was more of a picnic girl. Dwayne is a really fun guy, but there is more there. We spend most of our time together talking. Future? Who knows? But there is something inside of him that wants to come out. Only time will tell, and I'm in no rush.”

**********

Richard sat in quiet contemplation. What an interesting group of men, from Fidel at twenty-five to his father at seventy-two. Nearly a half century span and yet there was a compatibility that transcended age. “Father, how is it that you acquired the sobriquet, ‘Jumpin Jonny’? “Oh, my boy, that is a tale to be told at another time. This is not the night for stories of war and political folly. Eh? Pierre!” “Mais oui, Major. You and Selly and Pete and I can regale our younger friends with all we have learned about ego, hubris, and foolishness at another time. But tonight, is all about that which is good and loving in every soul here. Messieurs a toast, ‘Aimer et bonne chance’!” The men rose, ‘to love and good luck’, drank and consigned their glasses to destruction. Upon resuming their chairs Richard turned his attention to Dwayne. “Officer Meyers, be advised that we assembled, require a full and detailed report regarding the change in your social ‘modus operandi’.”

‘Was that really me talking, didn’t sound like me talking, oh I know, that was the rum talking. Am I talking or is this just in my head? I think I'll stop now and listen. Maybe someone else is talking out loud. If they are then I will hear them talking. I'm stopping now. I think.’

Dwayne paused; he normally had a clever, quick, smart-assed retort when cornered. But this was different, these weren't his usual drinking buddies, his friends in low places. These were good men. These were men he respected. And this was a special almost solemn occasion. The celebration of people he liked and yes, even loved, starting a new life. It may have been a rum enhanced question, but it was a serious question. It deserved a serious answer. He hoped he had one.

“Gentlemen, I'm not sure I have a good answer for you. I’m not very skilled at public speaking. But I will try to answer you as honestly as I can. I have met a young woman, Caroline Dupree, a schoolteacher. I met her a little over a month ago. Just a couple of weeks before Fidel’s birthday party. When things went all crazy and wonderful. It got me to thinking that all kinds of things are possible. If Camille and Richard can find each other through all the bickering and her being ‘Too French’ and him being ‘So English’, and Pierre and Catherine waiting twenty years for each other. Maybe this whole relationship thing is a lot different than I thought. Not everyone can have the storybook kind of marriage and family like Fidel and Juliette, and little Rosie. Maybe I don’t have to grow old and bitter and alone like my old man. Caroline makes me think and I've come to enjoy it. We spend more time talking than anything else. She’s smart and I'm learning things. I don’t know what the future has in store. But for the first time I'm actually looking forward to the future.

**********

The time had disappeared, much like the rum and it was time for dinner and those all-important instructions. But first the men had one more task. One more toast. Regaining their uniform hats, and full glasses they assembled in formation in the center of the room. With glasses now in left hands they awaited orders. The corporal in full field voice bellowed “Hand salute!” With precise compliance, seven hands snapped to brow, palm forward, little finger at hat brim, right foot up and down in unison. the senior officer took one step forward and spoke” “L'Amour!” In almost musical unison the men: “L’Amour!” Rum consumed. Salute released. Glasses cast in general direction of fireplace. Before the men could disperse the women approached, full wine glasses in hand. Face to face with their men, they lifted their glasses and murmured “L’Amour”. Imbibing a generous portion of the rich nectar they offered the remainder to their counterpart. The men downed the proffered wine. More ‘silent communication’ ensued.

**********

Pete and Marie scurried off to start bringing out the ‘rehearsal dinner’ feast to the preset table. Catherine had designed a meal to cover all her guest's taste’s. Seafood platers, tropical fruits, standing beef rib roast boiled potatoes, lush salads, croissants, and scones. A desert trolly groaning under cakes, puddings and pies. All awash in a seemingly unending flow of Champagne. The meal a grand success. Marie rolled out one last cart of coffees and teas to top the days overindulgence. With Pete and Marie joining the table, all sat back in a state of wonderous contentment. All participants engaged in the same silent reverie, cuddles and sleep, though not necessarily in that order. Selwyn stood and cleared his throat to gain attention. Simone interrupted: “ Selly, if you are about to give a speech, we reserve the right to throw things at you.” The Commissioner nodded his acknowledgment of his wife. “I only have a brief announcement, so please constrain yourselves. I should like to make one and all aware that, with Millie’s consent, Jonny would like them to stay on as our guests for a couple of months longer. Simone and I have also offered a choice of one of our properties for them to build a residence. They then might become semi-permanent members of our Saint Marie family. The announcement was met with applause and words of encouragement and congratulation.

Catherine, as acting head of the ‘council of women', announced that Saturday’s wedding would be a two-part affair. Since Richard felt that a sunrise wedding held a symbolic meaning. The religious service would be at Dawn Beach, on the east side of the island, to coincide with the birth of the new day and new and renewed lives. All would congregate one half hour before sunrise. A buffet breakfast would be served after the ceremony. This would be a private event.

Part two would be held on the beach at the ‘shack’. Everyone should meet at Camille and Richard’s beach house one hour before sunset. The civil ceremony would be held at sundown. Bonfires, food, beverages and bands would be available until dawn or exhaustion, which ever came first. The same attire would be worn at both events. Catherine ended her instructions by saying: “Part one is for us. Part two is for the island. I do believe that they may be more excited than we.

**********

As Catherine turned to her chair, a slight shudder passed through the building. Accustomed to frequent seismic activity, it didn’t even register with the dinner group. Enjoying the last of the champagne and preparing to call it a night they were engulfed in a faint foul odor. “Pete, are we having sewer problems?” “I don’t think so, but I’ll check.” Pete was off to check kitchen and WCs. The odor grew fainter, then much stronger. It was the rotten egg smell of sulfur.

Richard pulled out his phone and began a frantic search through university web site. “Oh, damn and blast! It’s the bloody volcano! Mount Esmee has burped. No danger, just a week or so of essence de volcano.” Everyone sat in stunned silence. What now? Plan ‘B’ had always been that in the event of storms etc., the weddings would be delayed on a week to week basis. But having a plan ‘B’ and actually implementing it were two different things. Richard rose to the occasion. “We’ll treat this like a crime scene. First, we need to collect more data. Second, we need to establish a decision deadline. Third, and most important, stay calm. We have a lot of brain power sitting at this table. We’ll work this out.”

“Chief.” Fidel was in full police investigation mode. “The prevailing winds are westerly and carry the gas over the entire island.” Dwayne was on his feet walking toward the stairs leading to the street, his phone pressed to his ear. Ten minutes later he returned with the wall map of Saint Marie, the easel, two by three-foot paper pad, assorted markers, and most important, one of the notebook computers. With table cleared, the ‘team’ set to work. Everyone else stepped back to observe and assist if needed. Dwayne told the Chief he had sent Toby and Raul to the other side of the island to get a closer view and to do a preliminary danger threat evaluation. And start an evac if needed. They both had gas masks. “Good job Dwayne.” “Camille, would you call the new chief at the fire brigade and bring him up to speed. Then act as liaison and coordinator in the event of evac.” “Commissioner, I see you’ve been on your phone, Guadeloupe?” “We will have their full support Richard.” “Excellent.”

“Fidel, you’ve got the toughest job. I need you to monitor as many weather services as you can. Create the best weather system projections you can for the next ten days.” “Father I seem to remember you were topping at meteorology and I would guess you're carrying a top-hole phone. Might I prevail upon you to join the team and assist Fidel?” “An honor, son.” And so, the team got to work. Camille had made her contact and set up an open line on her police issue phone. The fire brigade would be sending out teams to check low lying areas where gas might accumulate. Camille smiled, they were doing good work, necessary work, important work. He looked up at her and gave a quick wink, she responded with an equally quick air kiss. They may not have said the vows yet, but in reality, they were a ‘done deal’!

*********

Two hours later everyone had moved to the station. No one wanted to leave. There was some sort of group adrenaline rush in progress. By two am Simone and Millie had commandeered the bunks in the prisoner cells. The goat didn't seem to mind. Fidel and the Major were really into their assignment. Page by page they created a composite of what each of the next ten days would look like, in terms of wind direction and intensity. Dwayne and his volunteer assistant armed with two gas masks and an extra phone headed out to patrol the coast road. Caroline in the side car wore the grin of one of her students off on a school field trip. With the promise that they would check-in every fifteen minutes, they were on their way.

“Chief, wow, your dad is good. He does that mumble thing that you do. He mentally jumps back and forth from one idea to another. And then, boom he’s got it. Wow, I wish I knew what was going on in your brains. You guys are great, I mean sir, ah chief.” “That’s OK Fidel, get a cup of coffee and take a break. I want to talk to my father.” “I think he went to check on your mom.” Richard headed for the cells. Rounding the corner, he came upon the Major and Millie sound asleep in a spoon cuddle. That warm, rich French accent whispered behind his ear: “The acorn has not fallen so far from the tree after all. N’est pas? Mon amour.” Richard smiled; he was happy they had come.

**********

The grim reality was staring them straight in the face. They were between the devil and the deep blue sea. ‘Good grief, we’re facing an existential crisis and I can’t even devise an original description.’ Richard’s apprehension this morning was remarkably prescient. He was responsible for everyone and everything. Well it was decision time. One last look at the projection. “Fidel, what’s your latest?” “Chief this really is one of those good news bad news things. The tropical storm to the east is now hurricane ‘Elizabeth’. The outer bands will reach us in a couple of hours. The good news is that the storm will reverse the winds and blow the stink of Esmee out over open water to the west. The bad news is we can’t be sure how much of ‘Elisabeth’ we’ll get, and exactly when.”

Richard and Fidel stood back from the ten-day projections. As a sailor, Richard knew what course he’d take to avoid these natural disasters, but he couldn't sail an island. Around the corner came a remarkably refreshed looking John Poole. Joining the group, an always crisp and polished Selwyn Patterson. “Sorry for taking a lie in, my lad. Can’t do these all-nighters as I once could. Bring me current if you will.” “Fidel, take over if you please.” Richard stepped back and joined the Commissioner. They both watched Fidel and the Major, confer, debate, redraw maps and change and replace cryptic notations. During this period Dwayne and Caroline returned from their patrol. They saw lightning to the east and some spits of rain as they came into Honore. Camille stood next to Richard to report that the fire brigade was switching over to storm preparation. “Good work luv. oops, Sarge. That’s the first time we’ve kept direct communication with the fire brigade during an emergency.” 

“Richard. Since the schools will be closed until Monday, or whenever the storm passes, Caroline has volunteered to back me as communication liaison.”

“Excellent!”

Richard looked about and saw that the entire group of the fourteen wedding party attendees had gathered. Catherine was passing out coffee and tea to help restore the tired crew. The moment of decision was nearly upon them.

Fidel pointed. The Major in one of his very Richard like mumbles exclaimed: “Clever boy!”. A few more scribbles on sheet number three. They both stepped back and nodded. “Well done lad!” “Thank you, sir.” After a brief conference at Richard's desk, Richard turned to the group and explained: “Hurricane ‘Elizabeth’ will only give us a glancing blow on her journey north. The outer bands of rain and wind will give us periodic lashings. This system will keep the stench of Mount Esmee at bay for the next week or more. It would appear that a window of opportunity will be open from late Friday through midday Sunday.”

The Commissioner with a sly look asked: “Fidel, what probability of accuracy would you assign to your projection?” “Fidel’s instant response: “Ninety three percent, sir.” “I can live with that,” rumbled the Commissioner. “As can I,” echoed Richard.

“What say you my friends? Yea? or Nay?”

“YEA!”

“Sounds unanimous. It’s a go."

"Lift your cups and mugs to: Volcanos and Hurricanes and Marriage, Oh My!’

“OH MY”


	10. Today's the Day!  All Day!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubts, anxieties, insecurities, families, volcanoes, hurricanes, have all been dealt with.  
> Grumpy and grouchy has met fiery and tempestuous.  
> Too French has collided with So English.  
> Will Erzulie cooperate?

**Friday:** (One day, and counting.)

“Richard, can you believe that tomorrow is the day? ‘Demain est le jour!’”  
“Well, it will be ‘the’ day if ‘mother nature’ decides to cooperate. So far, we have had record breaking rain yesterday and today. I hope that ‘window of opportunity’ that Fidel and the Major predicted decides to open. If not, it would seem that ‘Elizabeth’ will be our only guest!”  
“I don’t care if I have to stand naked in the pouring rain, tomorrow is THE day!”  
“Camille, I do believe that would be a bit too French for me. I might acquiesce to wellies, a mac and a brollie.”  
“Richard, do you know the meaning of: ‘coup de poing’? Or possibly ‘frapper’? Well, ‘mon cherie’ if you show up in boots, raincoat, and umbrella I can assure you that you will be punched, slapped, and beaten about the head and shoulders. ‘Comprenez vous’?”  
“Oh, that is one thing about you my dear. Whether I understand the specific vocabulary or not, I never have any doubt as to your meaning!”  
“Bien! Then we shall have: ‘Un marriage long et reussi’!”  
“Long and successful it shall be, my dear. Long and successful.”  
In a single graceful motion Camille seemingly levitated from her chair on to Richard’s lap. Both were enveloped in loves chaos of giggles, cuddles, kisses, and hugs. Wrapped in their childlike bliss they were oblivious to the pounding of the rain on the shack’s tin roof. With Camille tucked in the crook of his neck on his left side they were joined by their little green friend. Harry was now splayed on Richard’s right shoulder. The cold-blooded member of the family was quietly enjoying the human warmth Richard provided. The Poole-Bordey family was content to wait the storm out.  
All knew the sun would shine tomorrow.

**********

The evening passed quietly. Camille and Richard spent most of the time discussing work. Open cases, cold cases all the should’a, could’a, would’as of past cases.  
“I’m sorry Camille. Our wedding eve, and here we are talking shop. I am such a dolt. You must think I’ve not a romantic bone in my wretched body.”  
“Non, non, non mon amour! This is exactly what I need. You, me, Harry, and all that is familiar and calming. I was a bundle of nerves at the station today. All the preparations are attended to and in the hands of people we know and trust. It has been such a wonderful month. It has been so perfect that it frightens me. Yet, I have never been so certain of anything in my life. I know what I am doing. I have, the man I need and want.”  
Richard stood, raised his index finger, and slid through the French doors only to return in an instant with a bottle of Camille’s favorite Pinot Noir, two glasses and one hand behind his back.  
“Oh luv, I too have spent the day in one continuous full body clench. I have these mad feelings that at any moment you will suddenly come to your senses and run screaming to someone more suitable. I wanted to start the evening with the wine and this.” Taking his hand from behind his back he offers Camille a single white rose.  
“Neither of us comes to this marriage as a virgin. But we do come with a purity of spirit and heart that is far more vital. The rose represents that purity and even a certain innocence. We both possess a childlike desire and belief in all the possibilities of life. I, at some remarkably visceral level believe that I am yours and you are mine until the end of time.”  
Camille stood, took the rose from Richard and managed to utter: “Mon coeur, it seems that you have to be at your most doltish for you to be at your most eloquently romantic. ‘Je vous adore!’ You do have a strange way of knowing what I need, even when I do not. ‘Tu es un mystere.’” They stood, wrapped in a warm and gentle embrace, immune to all sights and sounds. They were all the world they needed at that moment.  
Unwinding themselves from their enwrapment, they settled into two fan backed rattan chairs to enjoy their own company and the wine. A sip of wine, a flash of lightening, and an almost instant clap of thunder introduced a flicker and then total darkness.  
“It would appear that Saint Marie Power and Light has lost both.” Richard was on his feet before he had finished his sentence. He was soon crashing about in a hunt for candles or a torch or both. Another crash, an exclamation of pain, and: “Bloody hell I think I’ve broken my big toe.”  
“Richard. Why don’t you use the light on your phone?”  
“Ow, ow, ow, because I put all four of our phones on their chargers in the kitchen. I was trying to get there. I found the candles.”  
“Why don’t you light one, ‘mon cher’?”  
“Guess were the matches are located, Detective Sergeant!?”  
“La cuisine?”  
“Yes luv, the kitchen!”  
Soon, order was restored, candles lit, toes taped, and more wine poured. Richard, once more ensconced on the veranda suddenly was aware of total quiet. “Camille, the rain has stopped.”  
“Bien! That roof of metal was like living in a barrel. Richard, look!” Following her pointing finger, he saw first one dot of light, then another, soon dozens. The clouds were passing, and the hidden stars were emerging. “Crikey, I do believe ‘the old man’ and Fidel are spot on!” Both sat back and for the first time in two days, completely relaxed. Turning to each other, now grinning from ear to ear, they raised their glasses in silent toast. No words necessary.  
“Richard, have you an alarm clock? You know. One of those windup things with the bells on top. The kind that makes ‘bruit terrible’!”  
“You think I’m my grandfather? Trust me my sweet. I have set our four phone alarms to go off at five-minute intervals. Quarter to, ten to, five to, and on the hour. Each alarm is a different tone. All four alarms caterwauling together on the hour should raise the dead! We are prepared.”  
“Bien, we have nothing to do other than arrive on time. We will shower and dress at the beach. The Commissioner has arranged to have some portable dressing room trailers brought over from Guadeloupe. They do a lot of TV and movie filming over there. Selwyn is making connections with suppliers. He thinks doing that type of work will bring more tourists, and jobs to Saint Marie. With those fantastic green eyes of yours Richard, I shall half to keep close watch on you. They might try to steal you away to Hollywood!”  
“Camille, you, they would definitely take, but not an old ghost of a copper.”  
“Fantome! Ghost? What do you mean?”  
“Think about it. I’ve always been kind of invisible. Even now I can pack all that I own in one carryon bag and vanish in ten minutes. Back ten years ago I spent two years undercover in London. Glamourous? High profile? No, I was a series of cab drivers, bartenders, desk clerks, waiters; an invisible, professional eavesdropper. A boring man for a boring job. It did at least keep me from the prats in the precinct.”  
“That could be, Richard. But that makes me one too. You forget that the day after the party I moved in with one carryon and a makeup case that you said was smaller than your shaving kit. And in the two years of, oh so glamourous, undercover work I did: I got to be a hooker, a stripper, a go-go dancer, a waitress and a maid! No Richard we are no longer ghosts.  
Sunday, we shall go shopping! A vase or two for flowers, a painting, done by a local, a rug for our sitting area, a throw for some color. Those little things that make a home.”  
“Yes, I like that Camille; Yes, it’s time to stop being ghosts. Time to build a future. I have always been a visitor in life, boarding school, uni, even at the MET. Never fitting in. But here, with you, I am home. Merci beaucoup!”  
They lay upon the bed in their favorite cuddle. Would sleep come? It did not matter. All was right with the world.

**********

**Saturday:** (No more counting.) 

They had slept.  
The alarms had done their evil deed.  
The power had returned.  
Extra strong coffee brewed.  
Travel mugs filled.  
Shaving kit and makeup bag stowed.  
Sunrise would be at five forty-seven.  
They were scheduled to be at Dawn Beach by five.  
They would be there by four thirty.  
Who was excited?

‘Dawn Beach’ was technically ‘Dawn Cove’. A perfectly symmetrical ‘C’ shaped, two-kilometer-wide beach facing the open Atlantic Ocean. When the wind and wave patterns were exactly right this was surfer’s heaven. This would not be their day. “Elizabeth” was dragging wind and waves north. Today it would be the perfect millpond, just what a sunrise wedding required.  
Everyone had arrived early. The consensus was that no one had done more than doze or nap. These were all mature adults, and yet there was an almost childlike, look of joy, glee, and impatient expectation. Dwayne had been assigned the role of host, traffic cop, ringmaster, mother hen everybody’s favorite eccentric uncle or slightly disreputable older brother.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen, ‘Mesdames et Messieurs’ may I have your attention please?”  
“Hey! Listen up!”  
“All the dressing rooms are marked with your names. Once you are ready, come on out and I’ll show you where to go. There will be a fifteen-minute warning knock, so don’ go frettin’ ‘bout time. Okay? Now, you three brides. Just stay put. When we’re ready to go you’ll geta raptaptap, and your escorts will open the door help you down the steps, an’ we’ll be on our way. Afore we get all dolled up, I think we should give a big hand to Fidel and the Major. They really nailed it.” In response to the applause, exclamations and backslaps the Major granted a small smile a couple of brief nods. Fidel, while he didn’t turn red, he did glow with embarrassment. “Okay folks let’s go get gorgeous!”  
With everyone in their dressing rooms, Dwayne did the final checklist. Pete, Marie1 (Catherine’s), and Marie2 (Simone’s) were doing a final raking of the beach from the trailers to the shoreline. Maurice, ToTo and HarveyQ were setting up the steel drums for the wedding march. Dwayne scanned the scene. Uh-oh! Something was not quite right. Something was missing. The flowers were on the table ready for the bridesmaids. Food was all taken care of. His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of squealing tires, grinding brakes, a stuttering engine, then silence. Dwayne did not even turn to look; he was soon enveloped in a rapidly dissipating blue cloud of exhaust. Could only be Father Michel’s sixty-year-old Citroen. Slowly he turned to watch that which had been missing, cross the car park, trip, and stumble through the sand.  
Father Michel Forney had been priest at Saint Marie de Notre Dame for over forty years and a fixture in all aspects of Saint Marie life. He had been in retirement but had been restored to full time service when Father John was recently involved in scandal. Stumbling through the sand next to him was his golf partner, drinking buddy and perpetually terrified Citroen passenger Vicar J. Daniel Morse. Vicar Dan was another retiree called back to service when the English had regained control of Saint Marie and the shuttered All Saints was reopened. Vicar Dan was best known for his plaid Bermuda shorts that he always wore under his vestments. The officiants had arrived on time, sober, and in one piece. Dwayne took the two priests in tow to the table where they could have coffee or tea and muffins. Getting them settled he was off to his dressing room. Ten minutes later he had returned and briefed the churchmen on the last-minute details. He then moved over to his three bandmates to be sure they were ready for his cue.  
Dwayne kind of liked having this responsibility. These were all people he liked and respected. Most of his social life had always been on the rowdy side. The parties that the next day you could not quite remember where you were, what you’d done and who you were with. In the last month he had had a remarkably quiet and different social life. Caroline was not like any of the other Saint Marie girls he hung out with. She was a lot like Camille, intense, passionate, smart, and she didn’t take no BS from nobody. She could do that look thing that Camille did. The look that let you know she was on to you. But it didn’t make you feel small or stupid. They had been included in the stag and hen parties and the rehearsal dinner. They were part of the wedding. As the chief’s best man, he had responsibilities. He was part of the plan. He was the guardian of the rings. He arranged for his guys to play for the ceremony. He made sure the men’s clothes were picked up and put in the proper dressing rooms. It might be a little late in life, but he was beginning to feel like a real adult. Maybe he didn’t have to turnout like his old man. Maybe there was more to learn from the chief than just police stuff. ‘Huh, dawn, a new day, maybe a new Dwayne’.  
The wedding party milled about the coffee and tea table waiting the start. In the background the steel drums laid down a quiet island theme that helped to raise the participant’s spirits and create a party atmosphere. Dwayne once again took command. With his patented hundred watt smile he guided each member to their correct position. The bride’s attendants, Simone for Millie, Juliette for Catherine, and Caroline for Camille would stand on the right side of the stairs, facing the ocean. They would have the bouquets for the brides. The groom’s attendants, Selwyn for John, Fidel for Pierre, and Dwayne for Richard would stand on the left side of the stairs. The men would double as the escorts for the brides.  
The attendants were all in place. The men wore crisp white trousers topped with loose, untucked, long sleeved, open collared, shirts in large tropical floral prints. The women wore full length fitted, dresses with long sleeves that widened and opened at the wrist. These dresses had a similar tropical flower pattern. The grooms were dressed identically to their attendants. The base colors of the outfits were a coordination with the brides’ rings. John and Selwyn, and Simone wore yellow toned ensembles to match Millie’s yellow diamond. Pierre, Fidel, Juliette were dressed in green tones to match Catherine’s emerald. Richard, Dwayne, and Caroline coordinated in rose tones to highlight Camille’s pink diamond.  
Dwayne checked his watch, pointed to Father Michel, and Vicar Dan. All watched with amusement as the priest and vicar, arm in arm, in full vestments marched into the Atlantic Ocean. Once they were knee deep, they turned, and for all the world beamed like two schoolboys who had just stomped in the biggest puddle ever! Next, Dwayne nodded to his three pan playing band mates. They smoothly transitioned to the introduction of the “Bridal Chorus” from Wagner’s opera Lohengrin.  
The three male attendants opened the three center doors and the brides stepped out onto the platforms. The grooms, standing at the water’s edge had turned to face the women. Richard gasped; he grew lightheaded. For a moment he swayed and then regaining his senses, he wondered; ‘How did the most beautiful woman in the world manage to become even more so?’ A few feet to his left he heard his father quietly exclaim, “By all that’s holy, I am one lucky devil!” To his right Pierre’s utterance was a simple, “Mon Dieu!” In the background he was aware of the music, but all he could see was Camille. She, like the other two wore a simple off-white floor-length gown with long sleeves that flared as they approached the wrist. Each wore a crown of flowers and carried a bouquet that matched the rings. Yellow for Millie, pale green for Catherine and pink for Camille. As the bridal party approached, Camille glanced up at the few puffy white clouds left by the passing storm. The edges were starting to take on the pink tinge that a ten-year-old had floated her dreams upon. Richard, following her eyes, noted the clouds, and wondered why it had taken forty years for him to discover clouds and carpets of stars and sunrises and sunsets. And most of all, …. Love!  
Reaching Richard, Camille handed her bouquet to Caroline. Taking Camille’s arm from his, Dwayne placed her hand in Richard’s and stepped back. The couple smiled to one another and simultaneously mouthed silently, ‘I love you’. Turning toward the semi submerged clergymen, the wedding party was motioned forward. Soon the entire party was knee deep in ocean. Richard’s internal snark pondered whether this was a wedding or baptism? ‘But then what was a baptism? A cleansing, a removal of sin, a preparation for the future, a beginning. Maybe they were the same?’  
The music had stopped. The words were familiar: ‘We are gathered here …..’ ‘If anyone should know ….. or forever hold their peace.’ ‘Marriage is …..’ It was strange how these two representatives of historically adversarial institutions had devised a service that blended their two liturgies so smoothly. The message was quite simple. God was love, and to participate in the bonding of two people in love was to be part of God and God part of you. Philosophically digestible. Richard wondered how much trouble these two octogenarians would receive form their superiors.  
The declaration of vows, the ‘I dos’, the exchange of rings slid by smoothly and swiftly with no hesitation on either part. Richard and Camille proclaimed their devotion and commitment with their eyes. Just as the sun broke the horizon the unison voices of Father Michel and Vicar Dan proclaimed: “We now happily pronounce you married! You may now embrace!” The three couples joyously complied. The ceremony concluded with the wedding party exiting the ocean to the fanfare and “Wedding March” (from A Midsummer Night’s Dream) by Mendelssohn.  
Approaching the sumptuously laden breakfast table the celebrants were distracted by distant laughter and a shout of: “I say, might we have an assist?” Turning in unison they found that the elderly clerics, burdened by soft sand, two stone or more of water saturated vestments, and eighty-year-old legs, were unable to venture forth! Pete, Fidel, and Dwayne ran to their aid. Soon the two, jolly old men were sent to dressing rooms and changing into clothes they had brought for the next event on their schedule. Emerging from the trailers the two clerics were met with whoops and hollers and a standing ovation. Vicar Dan was wearing his ubiquitous plaid (Tartan to UK purists.) Bermuda shorts, a faded ‘Bushwood CC’ golf shirt and black knee-high stockings. Father Michel emerged similarly garbed in baggy blue and white striped shorts, a polo shirt proclaiming, ‘I love gophers’, and mismatched socks, one navy and the other dark green! It was assumed that golf was next on their agenda. Before joining the breakfast feast, documents were signed and witnessed, generous contributions were made to the two churches. A bottle of fine single malt and a dozen ‘Titleist’ for each cleric concluded the necessary technicalities. Seated at each end of the breakfast table the two priests offered an extended blessing on the marriages and the food they were about to partake.  
Richard rose, directed Pete and the two Marie’s to take seats at the table. “Father, Pierre, if you would assist me.” The three men proceeded fill everyone’s glass. The three then raised their glasses and in turn; Richard: “To my wife.” John: “To my wife.” Pierre: “To my wife.” Together: “l’amour” the assembled rose, lifted glasses and toasted: “l’amour”. Richard whispered to John and Pierre. The grooms transformed into waiters, serving all those whom they loved and cherished the most. The breakfast had become an extension of the morning’s ceremony of love.  
Having changed back into casual dress the party was dispersing, to reconvene at Richard and Camille’s beach house for the sundown service and party later that day. The three couples stood chatting when Selwyn approached. “I have taken it upon myself to make some plans for the Bordey Poole team and likewise for the Bordey Boulanger union. I have arranged for a private villa with pool and spa for each of you at the Golden Sands Resort. Pierre, you, and Catherine have such limited space. This will allow you to relax before the evening festivities. Richard, you, and Camille would have no privacy at the bungalow with all the party preparations going on. This will allow you some peace and quiet.” He then handed each couple the keycards and brochures to their days lodging. “Enjoy my friends.” They parted with the now customary hugs and kisses. Each time was becoming more comfortable and natural for Richard.

**********

The Golden Sands Resort and Spa was the most expense, most luxurious, most exclusive, most discrete, and thus most private resort on Saint Marie.  
“I am Armand your butler. Please follow me.” Richard and Camille did as requested. At the end of a long and twisting path they emerged at a large hand carved door. Armand opened the door and handed the keycard to Richard. “Chief Poole if you wish to observe tradition, I shall be on the veranda.” “Observe tradition?” Camille questioned. With that Richard swept her into his arms and carried her across the threshold. “Tradition.” Richard smiled to his bride. They proceeded to the veranda an Armand’s tour of the ultra-luxe accommodations, including the emperor bed, one third larger than an oh so common king size. “Any request, please use the waterproof shockproof personal communicator.” And with that Armand vanished.  
Richard stood in the midst of everything that money could buy smiling broadly, knowing that no one could be happier than he. And his joy had, and would never have, anything to do with infinity edge pools and emperor beds. His happiness was Camille.  
“My god, we’re married!” The thought startled him.  
“Of course, we are, ‘mon amour’.” Camille’s voice and accent were a throaty silken purr that never failed to raise the hairs on his neck.  
“Did I say that out loud, or are you reading my mind?”  
“Hmm. My secret.” With that, a very naked Camille swept passed him.  
All he could do was stare. It may have technically been bipedal movement, but that was not walking, it was floating, dancing, gliding. Every fiber of her body seemed to be involved in this stunningly subtle and sensuous motion. He abruptly gasped. He had forgotten to breathe. “Camille, you … you … you’re naked!”  
“Of course, I am. I’m going to swim in the pool. Then I’m going to float and doze in the pool. And then I’m going to lay on one of those lovely chaises and let the sun dry my body. And then, I shall do it all over again. Unless someone interrupts me with a better plan.” With that said she slipped into pool making hardly a ripple.  
“Oh, Camille you are just too French. What shall I do?”  
“Think less, ‘mon cherie’. Get naked!”  
And so, he did, and they were, and the day was spent in sensual delight.

**********

Sunset was at six thirty-nine. The wedding party would reconvene at the shack one hour earlier. Their ‘fancy duds’ as Dwayne had called them, would be at the ‘bungalow’ (the commissioner’s preferred designation) all cleaned and pressed. ‘Le marriage, deuxieme partie,’ was about to begin.  
The eight hours of pure indulgence and relaxation were exactly what both Camille and Richard needed. They were now energized and prepared for the nightlong party that lay ahead.  
During the half hour ride from the resort, Richard noted: “Camille. Is it just me? Everything looks and feels slightly different.” “Non, mon cherie.” She paused, smiled at him, and continued in a slow and philosophical manner. “WE have changed. We see the world now as partners. We are stronger, together. We no longer must carry the doubts, anxieties, and insecurities of being single. We now have the synergy of you plus me equaling infinity. So, the world hasn’t changed, ‘mon amour’, but we, have certainly changed. I now have a husband who has discovered that he rather enjoys swimming naked!” Her gentle purr of laughter enveloped him as he thought: ‘Beauty, brains, empathy, compassion, and oh so loving.’ “WOW!” Once again, a thought had burst out aloud. They both laughed. Intimacy was fun, even if occasionally embarrassing.

**********

Turning off the coastal road on to their ‘driveway’ they were met by one of the new night shift patrolmen. Opening the yellow ‘crime scene’ tape, the fledgling officer guided them to a parking space. As they walked around the shack to the front steps, they were greeted by Dwayne and Caroline.  
“Dwayne, crime scene tape? Is that really what our marriage is?  
Richard’s quire left Dwayne, a bit flustered as he stuttered: “I, I, we, we ran out of fire brigade tape.”  
Richard parried with: “Oh so now we’re not a crime but a fire?  
“Chief! You two, when you met there was immediate sparks, then smolder, then flame, then … then … then, well a blaze!” Caroline rolled her eyes. Poor Dwayne, for all his earthy, worldliness; his leg was so easily pulled.  
“It’s okay my friend, I’m just feeling a bit devilish. Eight hours alone with this woman would bring out the wicked in any man.” This earned him a sharp punch in the shoulder and a licentious grin from his bride. “Come, show us how you’ve got things organized.”  
“Well Chief, from each corner of the porch we got the blue tape tied to stakes about three meters apart goin’ all the way to the water. Starts ‘bout ten meters apart at the shack and ends up about thirty meters apart at the water’s edge. To the right, facing the ocean, is a ten by ten-meter portable dance floor. Then the stage where ‘D’Wayne and the Islanders’ will be movin’ and groovin’ all night long. They’ll also be makin’ the sounds for the ceremony.  
To the left at a hundred meters, you can see the first fire pit with roast pig or goat. Same at two hundred. At three hundred a ‘nother band and it keeps repeatin’ for about one and half kilometers. We have six bands and ten fire pits. Plus, there will be food tables and beverage stations all along the tree line for the whole length of the beach.  
The ceremony’s gonin’ be jest ‘bout same as the mornin’ was. ‘Cept you’ll be standin’ in the Caribbean Sea ‘sted of the Atlantic. After the ‘I dos’ and such, the brides toss the bouquets, then you do the ‘Sashay Parade’. It’s great fun! You’ll love it! Gotta’ go Chief. Last minute checks.” With a big grin, Officer Meyers hopped on his motorcycle, beaming assistant with clipboard in sidecar and took off up the beach. Leaving Richard and Camille wondering who was having the most fun at their wedding?  
“Camille, what is a ‘sashay parade’?” “The entire wedding party proceeds up the beach, stopping at the food and drink tables to greet and nibble and sip. Once we’ve reached the south end, we then return on waters edge side to dance and continue to greet and nibble and sip our way back to the shack. We will then sit around the firepit you see in front of us and hold court.”  
“Hmm. I think we should have done a bit more resting during out eight-hour break. Did we get any rest at all?”  
“Rest is for when were old, ‘mon cherie’!”

**********

With the aid of four tents, the nuptial party members were able to change in to their freshly cleaned and pressed wedding attire with minimal chaos. Since the Commissioner would be officiating at the civil ceremony, ‘corporal’ Pete would serve as best man and escort for the Major and Millie. Marie1 and Marie2 had been presented with their own bridesmaid gowns and added to the enlarged group. As they filtered out on to the porch, Richard was stunned by the sight of what seemed to be every living soul on Saint Marie. “Camille?” His only utterance. “Richard, it’s a party. No one on Saint Marie misses a party. And it is bad juju to miss a wedding of someone important.” “Are we important, Camille? “Oh, ‘mon coeur’, did you and all the men of the wedding party mot have a parade? Eh? Tres important. Tres officiel” Her musical laughter kept him from too much self-importance.  
They descended the steps to the sand and were guided to there positions by the now ‘mother hen’ Dwayne. The Commissioner in full uniform, ribbons, medals, and sashes, stood incongruously barefoot at the water’s edge. With everyone in place, Dwayne cued the band and a substantially louder version of Wagner’s wedding march burst forth.  
The bridegrooms turned and stood at waters edge to await their wives. The commissioner had ventured out into crystal waters of the Caribbean Sea. Only he could look so natural in full uniform, knee deep in the briny sea. Once again, the entire party ventured forth to join the officiant. The civil ceremony was less ornate, briefer, but no less moving.  
Camille noted that Selwyn was wearing his watch, aviator fashion, with the face on the inside of his wrist. He could thus check the time with subtly. At the conclusion of the service he proclaimed in remarkably loud and stentorian tones: “By the powers invested in me by Her Majesty, the United Kingdom, and the laws and customs of the Island of Saint Marie, I pronounce you lawfully joined in the solemn state of matrimony. You may kiss!” The three couples enthusiastically complied. The crowd cheered.  
He then continued ‘sotto voce’: “Just wait, no one move.” Raising his arms to the sky, the partiers fell silent. With the sun finishing it’s slide into the sea, and now in full voice Selwyn cried: “Agwe, king of the sea and Erzulie Freda, goddess of love grant your blessing on these three couples and all who come to share their joy!” With arms still raised, he turned to face the sea and the vanishing of the last crescent of the sun. A moment’s pause and an emerald flash swept the sky. The throng gasped in awe and then broke into an extended roar of “Erzulie!” The commissioner lowered his arms and turned to face all assembled with a smug look that proclaimed, ‘Well, what did you expect?’. But almost immediately he broke into a wide grin, and an open palmed self-deprecating shrug. As a group the wedding party spent the next few minutes sharing hugs and kisses standing in the warmth of the sea.  
Returning to dry land the entire group moved to the tape line. The three brides spread about ten meters apart, turned their backs to the crowd. The bridal attendants handed them the bouquets and at the end of the partier’s countdown, hurled their flowers to the waiting single women. Camille had a small surprise to spring. Earlier she had split her bouquet in two parts, without telling anyone. She whispered to Richard: “Watch, mon amour.” With that she tossed the remaining half of her flowers to a surprised Caroline and a completely shocked Dwayne. He stood frozen in time and space. A look of confusion. The look morphed into a very unDwayne like small, gentle, smile. He leaned over and planted a tender kiss on a now shocked Caroline. Camille and Richard were now the surprised. Erzulie was having a busy day.  
The Commissioner had gone to the shack after his feat of legerdemain. By the time the wedding party had finished the bouquet toss and assembled at the veranda to collect their footwear, Selwyn had changed from uniform to white trousers and flowered shirt. They were all set to start the ‘Sashay Parade. Dwayne, having regained his equilibrium, once more took charge. “Chief, it’s you and Camille that got this whole shebang rollin’, so it’s only right you should lead off. Ah Chief, jus’ let your bride tell you what to do and where to go.” Fidel added: “Better get used to it boss.” Richard nodded, smiled contentedly and offered his arm to Camille. So they led off, followed at roughly five meter intervals by Catherine and Pierre, Millie and John, Simone and Selwyn, Caroline and Dwayne, Juliette and Fidel, Marie1 and Pete, Marie2 and Marc, the ‘Sashay Parade’ had begun. They were soon engulfed by well-wishers. Proceeding from festively decorated table to table they hugged and kissed and nibbled and sipped their way the near mile and a half length of the party. At the southern reaches of the event they turned and made their return along the waters edge. This time, there were stops at each of the bands, to dance, nibble, and sip. At each dance floor, Richard and Camille performed a ‘first dance’ to the applause of the well-wishers. Richard was astonished that he was as nearly in demand as a partner as Camille. While his dance moves were strictly ballroom, he found himself gradually becoming more relaxed and improvisational. Whether that was the effect of the party atmosphere or the never-ending supply of rum, he was certain he had never ever enjoyed a party more.  
The ‘Sashay’ had taken nearly five hours. Gathered around the firepit in front of the shack the wedding crew sat in exhausted contentment. Richard observed: “I don’t know how the politicians do it? My hand is swollen, my arm is numb, and if anyone slaps me on the back one more time, I’m certain I will shatter like glass. My god, I’ve even kissed babies. From across the fire Millie said: “I have never met so many happy, kind and generous people in my life. If it would not be an imposition on your new life Richard, your father and I would definitely like to be, what you call, ‘snowbirds’.” Her request was met with applause and exclamations of approval. “You have your answer, mother.”  
Shortly, Dwayne announced, “last dance” from the band stand. “Come on now, this is for the wedding party only, and it will be a slow one.” Leaving the firepit, they all congregated on the dance floor. With a quiet arpeggio opening, Dwayne, Caroline, and HarveyQ sang the Peter Paul and Mary version of ‘There Is Love’ by Noel Paul Stookey. As they danced, the three bridal couples exchanged partners so they each danced with the new members of their extended family. The remaining couples formed a loose circle and watched.  
Returning to the firepit and rejoined by Dwayne and Caroline the eight couples prepared one last champagne toast. Richard paused for a moment: We have so much to be thankful for. We could easily spend the next twenty-four hours in toasts. I propose as our last toast, that we raise our glasses to the paradise that brought us all together. To Saint Marie!” “SAINT MARIE”

The End?

  
**********

  
**Postscript:**

  
Richard carried Camille across the ‘real’ threshold.  
The partiers had swept the beach clean, as though no one had ever been there.  
Consensus? Best party ever!  
The pair had fallen on their made bed and slept for twelve hours in their wedding garb.  
Harry stood guard from his perch in the tree.

  
All was well in paradise.


End file.
